Of Snakes and Foxes
by Exocet
Summary: Europe, 1943. War is wreaking havoc in a world submerged by chaos. Adolf Hitler is none other than evil dark wizard Grindelwald. Will Tom Riddle, working on an assignment with Feldmarschal Erwin Rommel, manage to change history ?
1. The Secret Meeting

**A/N : **Nothing's mine.

* * *

_December 1943 - England, The Minister for Magic's office_

With a loud "bang" and a green lightning, a man appeared in Minister Lazarus Cornwall's fireplace. Outside, it was nearing dusk, and the office, barely lit with a few candles, was a little grim. Behind his desk, minister Cornwall was sitting, a quill in his hand, writing on papers that looked like official documents. He finally raised his head and nodded to the newcomer with a weary sigh.

The man came from the shadows in plain sight. He was a short blond man, slightly limping as he slowly approached the minister, with piercing blue eyes that were currently half closed in exhaustion. He was clad in a military outfit that made him seem slightly out of place, as it was a German uniform. Yet, the minister didn't seem to pay attention to that detail, and he motioned for the blond man to have a seat.

"My dear Rommel, you are most welcome. Long travel ?" Cornwall asked politely to his guest.

"Yes", Erwin Rommel answered, in a heavily accented voice. "I myself have a hard time believing it, but they do not have chimneys in Africa."

The minister managed a tired smile, but the blond man shook his head impatiently.

"Minister", he said, "I would appreciate some explanations. I was not supposed to come here in the first place, and it could blow my cover."

"I apologize for that", Cornwall said stiffly. "But it is important."

"I would hope so", the German murmured dryly.

His tone was not very deferent, but he was exhausted enough as it was and didn't care much. Besides, he was not technically under Cornwall's authority, so he could pretty much say whatever he wanted. Yet, he had to be careful ; he needed the English minister for magic's help almost as much as the other man needed his. That was the reason he had agreed to come, in spite of the danger. That and the fact that the Minister would not have asked him to come if it hadn't been important.

"I take it you are in a hurry, so we will get directly to the reason of my summoning you. There are two things I need your help with ; first, the confirmation of some intel we have been gathering, but from agents we do not trust entirely. That intel is critical and we need to know now if it is reliable. Numerous lives could depend on it."

"I understand", Rommel nodded. "What about the second thing ?"

"One of our companies is blocked in Lybia. Their captain is a wizard, and we need to get him back."

Rommel raised an eyebrow at that.

"You are asking me to take that much risks to save one wizard ?" he asked in disbelief.

"Well, yes", Cornwall said irritably. "He is an important asset. Lots of people believe he might be one of the few that could confront Grindelwald and hold against him more than thirty seconds."

"Of course, if the rumor has it that he is our savior, I could not do less than help him", Rommel ansered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, please !" the Minister groaned. "Today has been trying enough as it is. Will you do it ?"

"I will look at the informations you want me to check. About your captain, I will see what I can do, but no promise."

"I understand, but keep in mind we need him alive and well", Cornwall said in a commanding tone. "His name is Albus Dumbledore. On this paper, you've got his last known localisation... that's not too far from your Headquarters, I believe. The man does not really have the soul of a military man, but I'm sure you'll get along with him if you get to know him."

The Minister pulled out of a drawer a bunch of papers, which he gave to Rommel.

"Here are the informations we want you to check. If you will."

The German officer nodded and took the papers. He opened the folder and started to read what was inside. Then he took a quill on the Minister's desk, without asking him for it, and added a few details on a page, before turning it.

Cornwall watched him proceed for a few minutes, then silently stood up and left the office. He then entered his secretary's office, in which was waiting a black haired seventeen years old boy. Lazarus had his doubts about involving someone as youg as he was in this war, but he was a logical choice, for many reasons. And the boy had willingly offered to help once he had been told what was expected of him.

When the minister entered, the boy stood up at once, his green eyes shining in the dark room.

"Riddle, my dear boy, I want to thank you again for accepting this mission in spite of the many dangers..."

"Yes, yes", the boy cut impatiently and without much respect. He corrected himself almost at once, though. "Please pardon me, Minister. I am a little nervous. May I be introduced ?"

"Why, certainly, my boy. And your nervousness is understandable. Come."

The Minister led Tom Riddle to his office, in which Rommel was finishing to check the file. The German added still a few remarks before putting the file back on the desk. He then turned to face Cornwall.

"Most of it was reliable", he said. "There was a lack of details on some aspects, but depending on the rank of your informer it is understandable."

"I am glad to hear it", Cornwall nodded, then gestured towards Riddle. "May I introduce to you Tom Marvolo Riddle ? Tom Riddle, this is Feldmarschal Erwin Rommel, whom you've heard of."

"Mr. Riddle", Rommel nodded politely.

"Feldmarschal", Riddle answered respectfully.

He didn't say more, but his tone was eloquent enough. Rommel appreciated the lack of flattery. He felt the utmost contempt for those trying to get favors by abject flattering. He studied the boy ; Riddle seemed to be around eighteen, though his cold green eyes made him look slightly older. He was tall and lean, and quite handsome.

But more than that, Rommel felt in him a great power, something both chilling and inspiring. Oh, well, he was tired and probably imagining things. The moment passed, and then Riddle was just a teen with a piercing green gaze.

"May I ask for what reason you brought here Mr. Riddle tonight ?" Rommel finally asked, as the Minister offered no explanation.

"Of course", Cornwall nodded. "As I know it is difficult for you to pass information, and even more to come to that kind of impromptu meeting; I thought that would be a good thing for you to have an agent that could take care of that for you, and would be a little less conspicuous."

Rommel stared at the Minister as if he had gone insane.

"Excuse me, Minister. You are giving me an _assistant _?!"

"Now, I would not put it that way", protested weakly Cornwall.

"I do not care how you put it", Rommel hissed. "If I need help, I will find my own men, thank you very much. No offense, Mr. Riddle", he added with the utmost courtesy.

Far from being disgruntled, Riddle had a slight smile, as if he considered the scene very amusing. As a matter of fact, he did ; seeing Minister Cornwall intimidated like that was worth watching. What a pity he did not have a camera...

"None taken", he assured the German officer.

"I must protest", Cornwall exclaimed. "Do you not trust us ?"

"This is not a matter of trust", Rommel retorted blankly.

"Yes it is", the Minister replied. "Tom Riddle knows Albus Dumbledore and will be able to recognize him if need be. He also speaks almost fluent German, and he is a very gifted young man. I'm positive you will find his assistance very helpful."

Rommel glared at the Minister. He didn't like... no, actually, he _loathed _being ordered around, especially by a stubborn and arrogant Englishman like Cornwall. But he was in a bit of a quandary as he definitely needed the Minister's help. Annoyed, the German checked his watch.

"I need to be going", he said.

"Riddle is going with you", Cornwall insisted.

"Fine", Rommel said stiffly. "But I will send him back if I feel like it, and you will not say a thing about it. Do we have an agreement ?"

"Yes", sighed the Minister. "We do. Thank you for your help."

"Keep your thanks. I am not doing it for you."

"We already talked about that", Cornwall said, shrugging. "We are still grateful for the lives you contribute to save."

Rommel scowled and motioned for Tom to follow him. They headed to the fireplace and took some chimney powder.

"Scheinacht Castle", he said after throwing the powder in the hearth.

He arrived a few seconds later, ashes in his blond hair, and he cleared the fireplace so as to let Riddle arrive. The boy appeared only seconds later, and came out of the hearth, looking all around him with curiosity.

"Where are we ? In Germany ?" he asked.

At least, he wasn't thickheaded, Rommel thought. But if Cornwall was enough of a moron to try and impose him an assistant, he still was clever enough so as not to give him a _stupid _assistant... And it was better that way, for Rommel did not feel very patient at the moment.

"Yes", he nodded. As I told Minister Cornwall, there are not many chimneys on Africa. Not that they would need them."

"Then how do they do to move from one place to another ?" the boy asked, seemingly honestly curious.

"They have other means. I might show you, if we get the chance. For now, we will Apparate in Africa. Let's hope my men are not looking for me. I told them I was going on a walk, but it has been a notably _long _walk. Which is the reason why we are going to Apparate a little further from my Headquarters."

"I understand, sir."

"Do you have your Apparating licence yet ?" Rommel inquired.

"Not really", the boy smirked. "But as I am able to do it anyway, the Minister gave me a special authorisation today."

Rommel showed no surprise, though it was impressive for such a young wizard to have mastered the art of Apparition without taking the mandatory classes. And it was also proof he had practiced, which was both dangerous and illegal. Truth to be told, Rommel did not care. As law-abiding as he was, this was a time of war, and he would take advantage of his subordinates' abilities, regardless of what they had done to master their skills.

"Good. You will need it. But as you don't know where my headquarters are, nor how to pass round the wards, I will Apparate us both. Before we go, though, we have to take care of your cover. I cannot just take you to my Headquarters and claim I found you in the desert."

"Actually, I have already thought about it", Riddle said. "I believe I have a solution."

Rommel waited, but when it became obvious the teen was not going to volunteer, he scowled some more. "Well ? Out with it !"

"I will hide under some Disillusionment spell, and tomorrow I will "arrive" to your headquarters, to be under your orders. I am certain you could forge convincing papers."

"Hmm", Rommel nodded thoughtfully. "Not a bad idea... With some improvement, it might work."

"Improvement, sir ?" Riddle asked in a slightly offended tone, as if he felt insulted that someone could improve an idea of his. Amused, Rommel acquiesced.

"You will be... hmm, say you will be my nephew. That way, no one will dare ask too much questions."

Now getting his new superior's idea, Tom started to smile. He liked it all the more since it would give him more power. As Rommel's nephew, he would have a lot of influence.

"So I will be Tom Rommel, sir ?"

"No. That is too uncommon a name, and I do not want some Gestapo or Gezaupo zealous officer who would look into it to find too easily you are not really a blood relative of mine. You will be... let's see... Tom Ritter. That is close enough to your real name, so you will not have problems answering to it."

"Very well, sir", Riddle nodded, obviously satisfied with his new name.

"We will go now. I have been away way too long already."

Tom nodded and held out his hand for Rommel to take it. He didn't like much touching people, and usually kept a safe distance with them, but in that case he did not have much of a choice. Rommel's hand was cold, but dry and farm.

"Now", the German added, "keep in mind most of my staff are Muggles and do not know anything about us. So, be careful what you say in their presence, and hide carefully your wand."

"Understood."

"Not very talkative, are you ?" Rommel's lips twisted suddenly in a smile. "Off we go."

They Disapparated with a loud "bang".


	2. My Oh So Dear Nephew

**A/N** : Almost forgot that damn disclaimer again.

Harry Potter and other related characters do not belong to me. Rommel belongs to himself, but I'm quite sure he won't say anything.

* * *

_December 1943 - Africa, Feldmarschal Rommel's Headquarters_

Seated on a chair behind his desk, Rommel was musing. He did not do that very often, but sometimes, when there was a lot of pressure on him, it felt good to let his spirit wander freely and to try to sort things out.

Well, if he was honest, he could not maintain the situation was really bad. But it was not good either. He was used to it, though. Whatever his choices were, he knew people would probably suffer from it. That was one of the first things he had learnt as an officer ; he could not go to battle and expect to have the same number of soldiers at the end of the day. In fact, he should even be grateful _he _made it to the end of the battle. But for him, getting out of it alive was not enough. Never had been.

_Oh, shut up, Erwin. You are just mad because you agreed to take the teen with you. He can take care of himself._

When they had Apparated back there, the day before, everything had gone as planned. Of course, Rommel's long absence had been noticed, and had made his men worry. A patrol had been sent to search for him, and he had been glad he had taken the precaution to Apparate a little further from camp.

Riddle had had enough time to perform a minor invisibility charm - not all that efficient, but quite enough for muggle's eyes - and he had discreetly followed as Rommel met his men and went back to camp with them.

Then, the boy had come to Erwin's office, and he had given him some forged papers quite realistic looking. But now, with the help of magic, it was pretty easy to duplicate muggle papers. As long as no one from the Gezaupo looked at it...

But, as Rommel was more or less trusted by Grindelwald, for the moment at least, he had not too much problems with these wizard minions of Himmler's. The Gezaupo were a minor branch of the Schutz Staffel ; the name stood for "Geheime Zauberer Polizei". Himmler had them spy on most of the prominents wizards of the Third Reich. But he did not seem to deem Africa worthy of his attention. Not that the Feldmarschal was complaining about it.

Rommel glanced at the window ; it was the middle of the afternoon, and there was not a cloud in the sky. Riddle was due to arrive any moment, now. The german stretched and poured himself a glass of water. That was during times like that he really appreciated the privileges of rank. Water was not rationed, but lukewarm most of the time. But _he _got to have cold water. And it was much needed. A squint at the thermometer told him the temperature was nearing the 45°C. He felt sincere sympathy for the poor sentries who had to stand guard in this sultriness.

A knock at the door drew his attention.

"Yes ?" he called.

A man with light brown hair, clad in a german major's uniform, entered the room, and saluted smartly. Rommel recognized him as major Rolf Merhoff, a subordinate he had noticed for his sharp intelligence and wit. He saluted back, though a little more slackly. He was still tired, and the night had been short.

"Herr Feldmarschal", Merhoff said once given the authorisation to talk, "a young man presented himself at the sentry, claiming he is... ehm, your nephew. He has a pass which seems authentic. Shall I have him arrested nonetheless ?"

He was a little nervous, but tried to hide it. He was not really successful, but that was not everyday one would meet a blood relative of Rommel's. If the boy was indeed as he claimed he was, which Merhoff had also some trouble believing. But his superior's reaction surprised him.

"Ah, yes", Rommel said, acting as if suddenly remembering something. "I had forgotten to tell you he was supposed to come here. I had that dispatch somewhere, but we have had quite a few other things to do."

"Yes, sir", the major nodded. He was prudent enough as to follow some unwritten rule that all officers knew ; never contradict a superior officer. Even when you think he's gone sheer crazy. But now, that was _Rommel _they were talking about. Either it was indeed his nephew, or he had his reasons to claim it was. And if he had special reasons to act like he did, Merhoff did not want to mess up with him. The Feldmarschall hid a smirk.

"Well, have him report to me at once and get back to your duties."

He dismissed the man with a casual handwave, and the major saluted at once, before striding out of the room. Only minutes later, Riddle was allowed to get in Rommel's sanctuary - his office, so nicknamed because he spent so much time there. His officers were not aware he knew about this nickname, but, well, what he was not supposed to know could not hurt him.

Rommel nodded to Riddle, who saluted with a mischievous grin. The german raised a hand to hold him silent, and taking his wand out of his arm sheath, he cast a silencing charm around them.

"Seems like it worked", the Desert Fox commented then, a little more relaxed now he was sure the walls would not hear anything.

"I had no doubt it would", Riddle replied. "After all, they have no reason to be wary of us. You are their great military hero."

The german's eyes narrowed at that.

"That is no subject for jokes. I do not enjoy betraying the trust they gave me, even if I feel it might save countless lives."

Riddle held his gaze for a few seconds, before averting his eyes.

"I apologize", he finally muttered.

"Accepted", Rommel answered after a few seconds.

There was an awkward silence, before Riddle finally cleared his throat.

"Um, so, I'm in the place, and now what ?"

"Now we take care of that Dumbledore problem your minister pestered me for", Rommel sighed grumpily.

"Oh." Riddle did not seem to find the idea very stirring, and Rommel wondered if he held any grudge against that Dumbledore fellow. But if that was the case, Cornwall would not have sent him, now, would he ?

Well, actually, he just _might_. The german officer rubbed his nosebridge tiredly. He did not need problems like that at that time. Besides, he did not have any evidence toward that conclusion, so he would not do one darn thing about it, he decided. He would take care of it if and when faced with the problem.

"So, how do we proceed ?" the boy asked.

Rommel went to his desk and took a map out of his drawer. He unfolded the paper, and gestured for Riddle to come and have a look at it. The boy complied, and examined it closely.

"Where are we ?" he inquired.

"There", Rommel showed him the place that bore the name "Bir-Hakeim". "From what your minister told me, his last known position was around here."

He pinpointed a place about three hundred kilometers west from Bir-Hakeim.

"Now, we must think strategy. We must get there, contact these englanders without being noticed by my forces, and get them out of here."

"Will it not be difficult for you to, hum... disappear for such a length of time ?" Riddle inquired.

"I can always find excuses", he shrugged. "The only thing is I will have to reinforce the wards so no one, even knowing they are here, can pass round them. I do not care for some wizards to show up while I am not here."

"What if they ask why you did it ?"

"A security measure against the Allies, of course", Rommel answered easily.

"All right", Riddle nodded. "What about our transportation ?"

"That is another problem. I can take my staff car without arousing suspicion, but that's it. You will act as my driver, of course."

"You said the Africans had other means of transportation. What about that ?"

"No", the german shook his head. "That kind of transportations works through oasis. It would take us on a precise point, and we do not know where they are, not to mention there are not any aosis closeby their position. We will have to do it the Muggle way."

"The hard way", Riddle groaned.

"Aren't you the lazy one", Rommel chided him. "Fortunately, things have been pretty calm of late, so we should be able to leave tomorrow morning, and if we are lucky, we will not be away for more than one or two days."

"Fine by me", Riddle agreed. He hesitated, then added, "I do not know the desert. What should I bring along ?"

"Be sure to have some kind of hat, it can get pretty hot out there. I will take care of the water and other equipment. And of course, keep your wand at the ready. Try not to get too wand happy, though. We will want to be as discreet as possible."

"Of course", Riddle said in the offended voice of someone who need not be reminded of such things.

"Meanwhile, I will have a room near my quarters be prepared for you. As you are my "nephew", it is only natural that I should keep you with me. The men expect it. That is all, for now."

"Very well, "uncle",", Riddle smiled. "I will get some rest now, I think, and settle in my new quarters. I'll see you tomorrow morning, I trust."

"Five o'clock, in my office", Rommel answered.

"Why so early ?"

"Because it is relatively cool in the morning, and much easier to travel", Rommel explained.

"Oh. I understand. Tomorrow, then, uncle."

He left the room, and Rommel remained alone, in his darkening office. Shadows grew as the day neared its end, and the Feldmarschal heaved a sigh. He would better get some rest as well. But first, he had major Merhoff summoned. The man appeared only seconds later in his office.

"Sir, I have taken care of preparing a room for your nephew. He told me he was to be housed near your quarter."

"Good."

Good thing of course, Merhoff decided. As the boy was probably not his nephew, Rommel certainly wanted to keep an eye on him. But what was such a youngling doing there, in Africa ?

The sudden thought that crossed Merhoff's mind was horribly embarassing, but he couldn't quite dismiss it that easily. Was it possible that the boy was sent in Africa by Reichsführer Himmler, so as to spy on Rommel ? That would explain everything... But such a young boy, being given such an important assignment ? Unless... Of course ! The Reichsführer wanted to remain discreet about the whole thing. If people discovered he was spying on someone like Rommel, that would not be good for him. Even more so since the Führer seemed to trust Rommel - after all, it was him who had given him the command of the Afrika Korps... so, would spying on Rommel be understood in the Fatherland as a mistrust of the Führer's judgment ? If so, the Führer would have no choice but to take measures... Yes, it made sense.

After an hesitation, but seeing that Rommel had not dismissed him straight away, Merhoff carefully spoke.

"May I be of assistance, sir ?"

"Yes. My nephew has never been to Africa before, and would like to visit. As it has been dead calm, lately, I think I can take one or two day off to give him a tour. If you think you and the rest of my staff here can handle everything. General Loewy should be here shortly, anyway, so if anything should happen he can take command."

"Yes, sir", the major nodded, though it wasn't quite what he had had in mind. Rommel leaving his headquarters ? He had never done that before, and certainly never alone. Gathering his courage, he couldn't help but protest. "However, sir, are you certain you will be safe ? Maybe you should take an escort with you, or..."

"That will not be necessary", Rommel replied calmly, silencing his subordinate with a patient look.

Merhoff reluctantly nodded.

"Don't worry, there will be no problem during your absence, I assure you", he said, not bothering to hide his disapproval. He knew the Feldmarschall was not the kind of commander who would punish him for caring.

"I have no doubts about that", Rommel asserted. "We will leave tomorrow, so I would like my car ready for five in the morning."

"Do you wish for a driver as well ?"

Merhoff prayed Rommel would say yes. He just did not fancied him going out there alone, or almost so, even though german forces controlled most of the country.

"That won't be necessary. What are nephews for, anyway ?"

The major had a quiet laugh, trying to slacken the atmosphere, though slightly forcing it.

"Then I hope your nephew does not resemble mine", he said with a sickly grin.

Rommel seemed to suddenly think about it and had a mock shiver.

"Good lord", he said. "maybe I should have my will written before we leave."

"If so you wish, I can have a notary come here tonight", Merhoff said, playing along.

"Here, in Africa ?" Rommel asked, surprised.

"Well, it would have to be a local, but..."

"I don't believe it ! He wants to send me some kind of chaman", the Feldmarschal scoffed. "Away from my sight, you idol worshipper !"

The major disappeared with a wider smile, and Rommel, shaking his head, reverted his attention to the maps laying on his desk so as to plan the travel of the following day.

Out in the corridor, Merhoff stared at Ritter's door for a few seconds, deep in thoughts, before leaving for good. For his commander's sake, he would keep an eye on the boy, and he knew of some other officers who would gladly help him do so. They had little esteem for Himmler's men.

**End note** : I am using celsius degrees, for I am not used to fahrenheits. Heck, I'm not even sure I spelled it right. If you are not used to celsius degrees, well, I don't really know what would be the fareneight equivalent, but I can tell you it's very, _very _hot. We're in Africa, after all.


	3. Saving Private Dumbledore

**A/N :** I owe nothing, not even Rommel (quite a pity). I promise no character was hurt when I wrote this chapter. I'm not testing laboratory products on them. Know what ? They're a protected species.

* * *

_December 1943 - Africa, Bir-Hakeim_

Tom stiffled a yawn as he edged his way in Rommel's staff car. What the hell he was doing there, he was still wondering.

_You volunteered, you idiot !_

Well, that may be so, but he was starting to regret it. He had not expected Africa to be so hot. It was a little past five, and it was still night time, but he was already sweating. And Rommel had told him it was _cool _in the morning !

Maybe it was because he came from England. And it was _snowing _in England, at that time of the year !

Tom glanced at the man, who was currently finishing to inspect their equipment. He was inhuman, to wear a leather coat in that sultriness. And clad in his uniform. Even his men, or most of them, reverted to shirts and shorts when it was too hot. If he didn't remove his coat, he would die from insolation. Tom almost pitied him. He would not be in his shoes for all the gold of Gringott's.

Hmm, on second thought...

"Is everything all right, Herr Ritter ?" a grim-looking man, clad in a major's uniform, asked him, as Rommel sat in the car.

"Yes, thanks", Tom replied. "We are ready to leave, whenever you feel like it, uncle Erwin."

"Then off we go. See you soon, Merhoff."

The men saluted as Rommel's staff car moved, as Tom drove it slowly out of Bir Hakeim. As he did so, the Feldmarschal remained silent, only speaking to indicate directions. As time went by, the sun rose high in the sky, and Tom started to understand just why Rommel had told him it was cool in the morning. Such sultriness shouldn't even be allowed. What was he talking about ? It shouldn't even exist !

He cast a sidelong glance at Rommel, who seemed quite confortable. The damn man was not even sweating !

There was a trick. Tom just knew it. But he damn sure would not ask. What would he look like, whining like a toddler just because it was a little warmer than what he was used to ?

Rectification ; a lot warmer.

Finally, he grew tired of that silence, and cleared his throat before adressing the german.

"Say, what was all this about, in the Minister's office ?"

The Feldmarschal did not even look at him, eyes steadily narrowed at the road in front of them. If one could call that a road.

"What do you mean ?" he finally queried, absent-mindedly. Tom could tell he was not quite with him at the moment.

"I'm speaking of when the Minister thanked you for, and you answered you were not doing it for him, and he said you had already talked about it."

"Oh. That."

It was a few seconds before Rommel went on, but Tom merely waited, not wanting to make an issue of it.

"I was merely referring to the fact I am not helping the Allied from the naive goodness of my heart. I would not have turned traitor if I did not deem it crucial for the future of Germany. All I am doing now is for my country. Even if some people may not share that opinion."

Tom slowly nodded, fully understandig what he meant. For most people, the fate of Germany and the will of the Führer were one and same thing. Betraying Grindelwald meant betraying Germany. Yet, there was Rommel's dilemma, for following Grindelwald meant bringing Germany on the verge of its very destruction. So, either turn traitor, or sacrifice one's country. Hardly a choice.

"Though my opinion probably matters little to you, I do think you took the right decision", Tom commented.

"I am certainly glad you approve", the Feldmarschal replied, his voice trickling with sarcasm.

The British teen merely shrugged, knowing that Rommel's anger was not directed at him, but rather at the situation he was in. By then, the sun was just above them, and with a groan, Tom stopped the car so as to remove his shirt.

"You do not want to do that", Rommel said off-handedly.

"I don't ?" Tom inquired, his chest already half bare.

"If you remove your shirt, you will not feel much cooler, but you are sure to have a lovely red shade by tonight. The sun can be quite harsh in Libya."

Tom considered it, came to the conclusion Rommel may be right, and groaned in frustration. But he was way too warm to even imagine putting back his shirt.

"Never mind that. It cannot get worse anyway."

"So you believe", Rommel murmured quietly.

Tom shrugged, and threw his shirt in the back of the car. His pale british skin was barely fainter than Rommel's, whose clothes seemed to prevent him from tanning. Well, if he wanted to play masochist, so be it. Not Riddle's business.

Now a little more at ease, he resumed his driving. Rommel cast him an amused look but said nothing. However, the travel was quite boring, and they finally resorted to talking, for lack of anything better to do.

"Why were you picked for this assignment ?" the german asked after a little while.

"Surely because I was stupid enough to volunteer" he snorted.

"So you _did _volunteer." The Feldmarschal raised an eyebrow at that.

"Oh, well, I had the occasion to be a hero, how could I refuse such an offer ?" Tom said dramatically, rolling his eyes. "No, seriously speaking, it was well paid, and as I speak german, the Minister offered me to do it."

"You are doing this for the money ?" Rommel's surprised was genuine.

"Of course. I was never really one for patriotism. I respect yours, but my country never gave me anything, and I have little wish to put myself in harm's way solely to protect it. Not if I can get something out of it, anyway."

"That is very bitter for someone so young", the german remarked. "Did not your country give you an education ? A place to live ?"

"An education, yes, I will admit that. A place to live ? Hardly. What did your country give you to make you protect it so fiercely ?"

Rommel was quiet for some time before answering.

"I am not fighting for a mere piece of land", he finally said softly. "What I am trying to protect is the people I know and love, the soldiers who trust me to spare as many lives as possible, our lore, our art... everything that make us german and not Italian or French, or even British. I once thought Grindelwald was the one who could give us back our pride after the defeat we suffered, at the end of World War One."

"But he didn't", Tom said carefully.

"No. He took our souls instead. Now that I come to think of it, that was some kind of Faustian deal - except we got nothing but war out of it."

"Tell me about bitter", Tom muttered, getting a brief smile from the german. "Besides, you should not be all that surprised. After all, the Faustian stuff is sort of a german thing, is it not ?"

"I guess you are right", Rommel admitted.

"Thanks to that Goethe fellow."

"You read Goethe ?" The man's surprise was palpable. "Even though he was a squib living among muggles ?"

Tom shrugged non-comittaly.

"I felt I had to read before criticizing efficiently and using the book to prove how living among muggles distorted Goethe's sanity", he said stiltedly.

Rommel chuckled.

"I was wondering about that wizard, Dumbledore. You certainly do not seem too fond of him."

_Am I that easy to read ? _Tom had to wonder, for he had tried to hide the dislike he felt towards the man who had brought him for the first time at Hogwarts. Yet, the Feldmarschal had seen through his in a matter of days.

"Well, he was a teacher of mine", Tom said lightly so as to alleviate the atmosphere. "You know what it's like. I still resent him for that detention he gave me last year."

"Is that so ?" Rommel murmured thoughtfully.

"Does it matter ?" Tom replied, shifting uncomfortably on his seat.

"I suppose not", the german answered with a twitch of his lips. "As long as you do not kill him on sight or turn him in to my forces."

"As you could easily have him released, I hardly see the point. It would endanger us both, for little results", Tom pinpointed.

"So you _would _do it if you could."

"What are you getting at, anyway ?" the British teen groaned, annoyed at his not-yet-a-friend-but-not-a-foe-either.

"Nothing at all", the german replied innocently. "Tired of driving ?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"Stop the car, then, and let's switch seats."

A moment later, Rommel was driving, while Tom stretched in his seat with delight. He had not realised how tense he was before he had stopped the car, but remaining still in the driver's seat, focused on the road, was tiring. And dirty, too. The sand just went everywhere. Tom knew he had some of it in his clothes, and probably underwear too. Of course, he wouldn't say a thing ; that was just too damn ridiculous. Besides, Rommel did not seem to be bothered by the sand in any fashion. But now, the man was special. Tom only wished he knew _how _the german did it.

As they went, Rommel kept an eye on the compass, and they were still heading west. After half an hour or so, the german stopped the car and took a map from under the seat. Then, he started to mutter numbers under his breath, and after a few minutes, he made a red dot on the paper.

"Here we are", he said. "They should be somewhere in this area. The problem is, they will be hiding."

"The problem, I'd rather say, is your uniform", Tom said. "What are they going to do if they see a german-looking man in a german uniform driving a german car ?"

"Oh, well, that is not really much of a problem."

Rommel took his wand out of its sheath, which was tied on his forearm. Tom peered at the wooden stick ; it was a beautiful piece of work, carefully crafted, and obviously lovingly taken care of.

"Is that ebony ?" he asked.

The Feldmarschal raised an eyebrow in surprise, but showed him the wand so he could examine it more closely.

"It is. Twelve inches long. You seem to be knowledgeable about wands."

"Not all that much, but I took a personal interest in it a few years earlier, and studied the specificities of the different woods used in wand-making. If I remember well what I learned then, I would say ebony makes excellent wands for duels, protective spells and dark arts, is quite good for charms and transfiguration, but is just terrible for healing and not so good for some minor stuff."

"That is... quite accurate", Rommel said, not seeming to like much having someone know everything about the strength and weaknesses of his wand.

"If I may ask, what is inside ?" Tom pushed nonetheless.

"Griffin feather", the german said reluctantly.

"Quite an impressive combination", Tom admitted. "Though it would make a wand slightly more rough than with more... prevalent components."

"What about _your _wand ?" the Feldmarschal retorted irritably.

"If you _must _know, yew and Phoenix feather."

Rommel shook his head irritably, and turned it towards himself, before muttering a few words Tom did not quite hear. His outfit did not seem to change at all, though. The same trick was used with the car, which did not seem to change either, still hoisting german flags.

"What did you do ? It did not change anything", Tom said, after observing mutely the german's work.

"_You _see nothing different. That is because you expect to see me in a german uniform."

Tom blinked a few times in surprise.

"What do you mean ?"

"If we encounter british, they will see me in a british army major's uniform. If we encounter other allied soldiers, they will see the same thing. But if we meet germans, they will not be affected by the spell, and see my real uniform."

"That comes in handy", Tom said gleefully. "I take it that works the same way for the car ?"

"Quite correct. But you need not change your clothes, as you look like a civillian."

"What about your accent ?"

"Yes, _what _about my accent ?" Rommel asked patiently.

"You speak english well enough, but you will never pass as a native."

"No worry. I have a lie at the ready if the question is asked. And you will do most of the talking in need be. If they react badly, I will Obliviate them, and keep silent. Now, let us find these british soldiers."

"And just how do you intend to do that ?" Tom enquired with curiosity. He had seen that Rommel had more than a few things up his sleeve.

"Are we wizards or not ?" the german retorted with a deridingly smile.

Once again, he took his wand, and performed some kind of spell. A red arrow appeared above the wand, started to spin round, then stopped, indicating the north.

"And there we go", the Feldmarschal said contently. Now we just have to follow the arrow."

"If I may, sir..."

"What, such coldness", Rommel said ironically. "Am I not anymore your dear uncle Erwin ?"

"Uncle it is, then. How did you pull out that last trick ?"

"Easy enough. I adjusted the arrow to point towards the strongest source of magic nearby, barring us."

"We could run into someone who is not Dumbledore."

"Sure thing. But there are always odds in war. Besides, with that bit of camouflage, the hazard is limited."

"Do you always have an answer to everything ?" Tom finally asked irritably.

"Do you always have a question for everything ?" the german smirked. "Come now, my nephew. We've got a stray wizard to find."

"I sure would not be too sad if we don't manage", Tom groaned.

But he followed the Feldmarschal back in the car.


	4. When The Desert Fox Is Outsmarted

**A/N** : I actually own some of the characters of this fic. Thomas Mattews, for instance. Care to trade him in exchange for Rommel ?

* * *

_December 1943, Africa, in the desert_

"Well ?"

"We are getting closer. Did not anyone ever teach you patience is a virtue ?"

Feldmarschall Erwin Rommel checked once again the red arrow hanging above the car's dashboard. They had been looking for quite some time now, and they still had not found the wizard known as Albus Dumbledore. What made the matter worse was they were running short on fuel, and they had just enough in the jerrycans for two hundred kilometers or so. Which was not enough to get back to camp. And Rommel was more and more feeling like they were making circles.

"You know", his British companion said thoughtfully, "I think..."

"Oh, you do, now ?" Rommel asked tartly.

Searching around the whole day had done nothing to improve his mood.

"Why, yes, my very dear uncle", Tom said sweetly - which infuriated the german even more.

"Well, go ahead !" he finally said, no patience left.

"If I know Dumbledore, he will have thought of that nice spell you are currently using. I'd bet he's been muddling up his magical signature so we can't find him."

"Oh, that is just _great _! And you could not have told me that _before _we looked all around the place uselessly."

"Hey, I just thought about it. Don't blame me if your trick didn't work !"

Tom wiped the sweat on his forehead and went for the water-bottle. he felt awfully thirsty, and he definitely hated Africa. That was a boring place, with only sand everywhere, and, with enough luck, a tree or some stones here and there. No interest at all in that country - what was its name ? Ah, yes, Libya. Rommel had told him before he liked the place, but he had been there for years. Stunning, what too much sun could do to a man. Enough to make him actually _like _the place. For his part, Tom would have liked it better with some more clouds. He just couldn't get used to the sultriness.

_Awww, come on, you have been here for barely a day. Give yourself some more time._

The only thing was he didn't _want _to get used to it. He wanted to forget it all about that whole "saving Dumbledore" nonsense, and get back to England as soon as possible. A pity he couldn't.

Unsuspecting these rebellious thoughts, Rommel had stopped the car - no point in moving on if he did not know where to.

"You know", the german finally said, "I am starting to share your opinion."

"That is to say ?" Riddle asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"That Dumbledore fellow can rot in hell for all I care."

"No need to go to hell to rot. This place is warm enough", the British teen muttered.

"You will get used to it", Rommel smirked. "In a few months time, you will feel like you have always lived here."

"Merlin save me ! I certainly hope not. Speaking of rotting, isn't it what's going to happen to us if we don't start moving ?"

"Certainly", Rommel said politely. "Care to give me directions ?"

"_You _are the one supposed to save Dumbledore", Tom pointed out with a mischievous smile.

"And _you _are supposed to assist me", the blond german retorted.

"Well, truth to be told, I do have a few ideas", Riddle smirked, "but you won't like them so it's no use.."

"Do tell anyway."

"You could take that fancy wand of yours and write up in the sky, with very big and bold letters, in red or something flashy, "_we are here to save you Dumbledore"_."

"Right", Rommel snarled. "And we could say hello to some nice german soldiers of mine too."

"Told you you wouldn't like it. It's the quickest way."

"The quickest that you can think of", the Feldmarschal corrected him.

With a sigh, he got out of the car, soon imitated by the British teen. Above them, the sun was shining and beaming - it was around four in the afternoon. A glance toward Riddle told Rommel the teen's bare chest was already hoisting a redder shade. He would soon enough regret he had not listened to Rommel. But you can't make a donkey drink if he's not thirsty.

He cast a look over their surroundings. Nothing seemed to move, apart from them. No place to hide, either. No water. So what ? They could not have just disappeared ! Well, Dumbledore _could _have, but not in front of his men. Besides, had he done so, forsaking the soldiers under his command, Rommel would have felt the utmost contempt toward him.

That was the problem, when war involved both wizards and muggles ; it was just so much more difficult to hide one's nature...

"Hands up !" a voice barked behind him, bringing him back to reality rather brutally.

In other circumstances, he might have tried something foolish. But, he had no cover, the man probably had a gun, and Riddle was with him, and he could not abandon the teen. Besides, he did not like all that much muggle guns. It hurt like hell, though it was often less dangerous than a wand. So, he raised his hands as ordered.

"Turn round", the same harsh voice commanded.

He obeyed, and found himself face to face with a British sergeant, holding a gun aimed at him point-blank. Impassived, he stared at the man. The British was not alone ; soon enough, a dozen other men rose from the sand, uncovering the holes they had been hiding into. They had buried themselves in the sand... weren't they the clever ones.

Near Rommel, Riddle had also his hands raised, glowering at their captors. The german hoped his companion would not try anything stupid. But no... the teen was anything but stupid, and he was not suicidal either.

The british soldier who had spoken gestured for his friends to search their new prisonners, and the Feldmarschal stiffened slightly. His Deceptive charm was good enough, but it would not hold if they searched him thoroughly. If that happened, he would hav to draw his wand, no matter what.

But, fortunately, one of the brits merely felt his clothes, and seized the gun Rommel was wearing on his belt. The _dummkopf _did not even find his wand. Well, good for him and Riddle. Whom they did not even bother to search, as his chest was bare.

Time for some talk, now. Diplomacy might get them out of this annoying situation.

"I don't understand", Rommel said in his best english. "We are Allied soldiers, just like you. No need to be so harsh."

When he really tried, he managed to speak almost without a foreign accent.

"Don't bother, you Kraut", the sergeant who seemed to be their leader sneered. "We heard you talk with that fancy german accent of yours."

Riddle cast him a glare that clearly meant "told you so", and Rommel pointedly ignored him. Right, now was the time to pull out some nice lie.

"I'm Dutch", he argued. "Ah, it's always the same thing", he cast the man an annoyed look. "Just because I've got a foreign accent doesn't mean I'm german."

Some uncertainty was now wavering in the man's eyes. The Feldmarschal did not give him the time to ponder over this assertion.

"What are you doing around here anyway ? I thought there were only Krauts in that part of Libya... Be that as it may, that's a fluke we met. You are alone ?"

He made a mistake asking the last question, for it seemed to arouse suspicion amongst the British soldiers.

"Why would you care ?" the leader asked with open hostility. "We won't take any chances", he added for his men's benefit. "Our orders are to take you to our leader. You won't get hurt if you behave. Don't try to escape. What are your names ?"

Hum. That one, he should have expected it.

"I am major Erwan Romester", he lied. "And this is Tom Riddle."

"That's not a Dutch name", the soldier said dubiously.

"My father was a Scot, but after he married my mother he asked for the Dutch nationality, and he lived there with her and myself."

That was just indredible enough to make the British soldier believe him. He nodded curtly.

"If I may, what is _your _name ?" Rommel inquired.

"Sergeant Thomas Matthews", the man replied.

He didn't add "sir", and the unsaid title hung between them for a short while.

Then, he turned away, and the blond german tensed slightly ; that may be his chance. But he refrained from doing anything. The other British soldiers kept their weapons carefully aimed at him and Riddle. No, they would not drop their guard for the time being.

"McFerson", he called, "is the car intact ?"

"Yes sir", answered a bald man with a scottish accent. "And there is even loads of fuel."

"Good ! How many can fit inside ?"

"No more than six or eight, and only if we squeeze up a little bit", came McFerson's answer.

"Fine. Take it back to camp, we'll bring the prisonners on foot", Matthews ordered.

Rommel cast a sidelong glance at Riddle.

"Up for a little walk ?" he asked, deadpan.

"Humph", the British teen mumbled in answer. "I knew we should not have stopped the car."

Seeing his companion in a foul mood, the german shrugged and did not insist. At Matthews' command, they started walking, the British soldiers behind them. Undoubtedly, if they tried running, they would be immediately shot. They had no choice but come along and pray these soldiers were Dumbledore's men. Because otherwise, Rommel would have to escape at all cost, and that probably meant kill a lot of them. Because he could not bring them along, and stupefying them to let them rot on the ground would mean condemn them to a slow and excruciating death.

The walk lasted for half an hour, during which neither Rommel nor Tom spoke. The British talked quietly among themselves, not quite loud enough for the two prisonners to hear.

Soon enough, they approached the camp, which was more like a few tents pitched together than an actual military settlement. The sand-coloured tents made a good camouflage, and no one would probably notice it unless they came very close, and even more so since it was set in a small pit. There must be about a hundred people or so in this place... impressive enough. Their car stood nearby.

Matthews led them towards one of the tents, at the end of the camp, drawing the other men's interest. They kept their eyes on the two prisonners as they went through the settlement. Finally, he stopped in front of the tent.

"Captain, sergeant Matthews reporting. We brought the prisonners."

"Come in", the man inside the tent replied.

Matthews put away the folding screen, and the two prisonners entered the tent, both holding their breath.


	5. Now Comes The Easy Part

**A/N** : They don't belong to me, which is probably why I can't seem to control them. Everytime they come out with crazy ideas and all I can do is come along. Oh, well. Either I'll tame them, or they'll tame me...

* * *

_December 1943, Libya, somewhere in the desert_

It was very dark inside the tent, and at first neither Rommel nor Riddle saw anything but the shadow of a man. Behind them, Matthews had entered as well, with three of his men. They really weren't taking any chances, Rommel thought, annoyed. _And _they kept aiming at him in a way he definitely disliked.

The man - presumably the captain, whose name would be Albus Dumbledore if he and Riddle got lucky - turned to face them, and stared at them for a few seconds.

"My, my, I certainly did not expected to meet one Tom Riddle here", the man finally said cheerfully. "A most pleasant surprise indeed."

So, that was the man Cornwall had been so enthusiastic about. And, obviously, he did recognize Riddle, so he probably could be more or less trusted. After all, the British had no interest in double-crossing him, since he was on their side - or rather, they had a common ennemy.

Dumbledore did not even sound really surprised, much to Rommel's annoyance. Yet the man could not have been expecting them. But of course, the Feldmarschal was in no position to ask. Hopefully, though, Dumbledore would set things straight with his men, and everything would work out eventually.

_Oh, well, at least we _did _find him. Now comes the "easy" part. Duh !_

Chasing these thoughts, which did not resemble him anyway, Rommel brought back his attention to their "host". Now, he was accustomed to the darkness, and was able to make out the man's features. He was tall, with brown hair and the hint of a beard - probably did not have a lot of water to waste for a shave, lately - and his steely blue eyes were twinkling madly behing his glasses.

Well, Cornwall had been right at least about one thing. In spite of his uniform, the captain certainly did not look military. And even less so when he had that beaming smile of his, for now directed towards Riddle. Poor boy.

"That is quite alright, sergeant", Dumbledore added after a few seconds. "I know these men, and they are no danger to us."

The muggle soldier looked as though he would have like to argue, but he was clever enough to keep his mouth shut and to understand the dismissal discreetly hinted by the wizard captain.

"Are you certain you don't want me to let a guard... just in case ?" Matthews finally insisted, without much hope.

"Absolutely certain", Dumbledore answered firmly.

And Matthews had no other choice than to leave the tent, although he did take the time to cast a glare at Riddle - who did not even notice it.

Soon enough, there was only the three of them remaining in the tent ; Dumbledore, Riddle and Rommel. The older wizard cast his two former prisonners an amused glance.

"So, I believe that is the time for some explanations", he said casually. "I take it it's not by chance you happened to appear out of nowhere, Tom, my dear boy ?"

"That's right", Riddle admitted.

"But maybe before getting to that you would care to introduce your friend to me ?" Dumbledore added, as if on second thought. "And also maybe explain to me why you are with a man who wears a german uniform."

Now, his voice had steely edges, as he observed the Feldmarschall. Rommel remembered with relief that his rank insignias were hidden under his leather coat. If this Dumbledore fellow had seen them, he might have taken more... radical measures than to merely ask Riddle about it.

"I am here, you know", the german said in annoyance. He did not like being ignored.

"Of course", the elderly wizard said at once. "Please accept my apologies. I certainly did not mean to be rude. My name is Albus Dumbledore."

"Yes, I know that", Rommel said, biting back his temper. "I am Erwan Romester", he added, using the false name he had invented less that an hour ago. "I was sent to rescue you by your minister for magic, Lazarus Cornwall. Riddle here can testify that."

"What about the uniform ?" Dumbledore insisted, much to the blond german's irritation.

"What do you usually wear when going in a german-controlled country ? Besides, if you feel curious, I strongly suggest you ask questions to your minister, not to me. By the way, how did you see through the spell ?"

Dumbledore smiled in an infuriating way.

"I just know how to use my eyes", he said with a mysterious smile that Rommel was quite sure he had practiced in front of a mirror. "Tom ?"

"He tells the truth. We are here to help you", Riddle said, bearing it out.

"Is that so", Dumbledore said, not seeming all that convinced.

"Oh, please", the Feldmarschall groaned. "If we had wanted to capture or kill you, believe me, we would have come with much more manpower."

Either Dumbledore did not really care, either he was powerful enough to let the matter skip out. Rommel was prone to believing the second option. Be that as it may, the elderly wizard suddenly shifted to an openly friendly smile. Obviously, he had decided to accept what they had told him. For the moment, at least.

"Well, I certainly appreciate the assistance. But I don't really see how you could help. I have a hundred men here, and taking them through the german lines will not be an easy task", he said cheerfully, as if discussing the weather.

Or maybe not. The weather in Africa was not a subject one could be cheerful talking about.

"Do you happen to have a map ?" Rommel asked.

"Of course. Here is is", Dumbledore said as he pulled the object from his coat, which was laying on the campbed. "I am afraid I don't have a table to go with it, though."

"No matter", the german replied absent-mindedly, as he waved his wand that Dumbledore had not bothered laying hold of. The man really was overconfident, Rommel decided as the map unwinded itself, hanging in the air with docility.

"Lumos", the german muttered before studying the thick piece of paper.

Dumbledore and the British teen observed the map with him.

"We are around here, if I'm not mistaken ?" the Feldmarschal said, pinponting an isolated place in Libya.

"Quite. Right here, actually", Dumbledore said, showing him a red dot he had obviously made himself.

"Uh uh", Rommel muttered, as he kept studying the map.

After ten minute or so, he shared a look with the two other wizards.

"I trust you have been trying to find a way to get out of Libya as well", he said to Dumbledore. His tone clearly implied a question.

"Of course. I have come to the conclusion there are only two ways to bring my men safely back to England."

"With either a plane or a submarine", Rommel nodded. "In both case, we would need the cooperation of the Allies."

"Don't you forget the third solution", Riddle said off-handedly.

Both other men narrowed their eyes at him, but while Rommel looked mainly curious, Dumbledore remained wary, if not slightly hostile. Yet, when he answered his tone was most courteous.

"And what solution would that be ?" he asked politely though almost reluctantly.

"Turn your men in to the germans, and Disapparate to another Allied country. That way, you are safe back, and your men will not have anything to fear in a prisonner of war camp. They will just have to sit out the remaining of the war, which is not such a harsh fate, as far as I am concerned", Riddle said with a sweet smile.

Well, the boy certainly did have a way to present it and make it almost sound right. He should be introduced to Goebbels, Rommel thought darkly. They had the same ways to manipulate one's mind.

Dumbledore, on the other hand, looked at Riddle in dismay - whether it was an act or sincere, Rommel couldn't tell.

"Tom, my dear boy, I do hope you realise how horribly wrong is what you just suggested. I could not do that to my own men."

"That would be saving their lives", the boy replied politely. And one had to admit he was only slightly distorting the truth. But that was still a distortion.

"Not quite", Dumbledore retorted sternly. "I told them I would get them safely back to England, and I fully intend to do so."

"As you wish", the teen replied with a shrug. "I merely felt we had to consider each and every possibility."

The elderly wizard sighed with frustration. He never got anywhere whenever Riddle was concerned. The boy just defended his opinions as if his life depended on it - even when he was wrong. That would do him no good, and that would mean no good to the world either, if Dumbledore was right. He certainly hoped he was. And now, there was the problem of that Romester, whatever his real name was - for Albus was quite certain it was anything _but _Erwan Romester. And his vague explanation for wearing german clothes did not sound right either. After all, Riddle was clad as a civilian.

Yet, he could sense no deceit in that Romester fellow, other than his name and uniform. He seemed to be really here to help. Maybe... But Dumbledore shall still be careful around the man, even if he did not quite show his wariness.

Unaware of these thoughts, Rommel kept thinking about the interesting tactical problem he was confronted with. Eyes half closed so as to better concentrate, he considered the field, mentally adding the presence of his men to the equation. He had himself placed them where they were, with the help of his staff, and he knew the maps by heart. His unfailing memory and the countless hours he had spent on his maps gave him all the elements he needed to think their way out. Now, if only...

"Getting a plane to land here is out of the question", he finally said.

Both Dumbledore and Riddle nodded at that.

"It would be too hazardous to have one come here and go back, not to say, not very discreet. That leaves one way out..."

He shared a look with Dumbledore, then smirked.

"I hope you don't get seasick, captain", he said without hiding an amused smile.


	6. Permission To Speak Freely, Sir ?

**A/N** : Ah, yes, the disclaimer thingy. I'll never get used to it. (clears her throat) They're not mine, and the more time passes, the more I'm glad they're not. They're driving me crazy.

* * *

_December 1943 - Libya, south to Ras Lanouf, Allied camp_

"You want him to impersonate WHO ?!"

The shout that came out of Dumbledore's tent was loud enough to be heard all across the camp, and several soldiers turned their heads towards the origin of the sound. Inside the tent, lieutenant Jonathan Parck stared at his superior with utter disbelief.

"Permission to speak freely, sir ?"

Dumbledore nodded with a fatherly smile.

"I apologize for being so crude, but... this plan sucks."

Now, that was being quite blunt, Rommel mused. But Dumbledore did not seem to take offense and merely tilted his head to the side, clearly inviting his subordinate to explain his position in a slightly more detailed way. Behind him, the Feldmarschal and Tom merely waited, while lieutenant Parck seemed to think how to best voice his mind.

Most of Dumbledore's staff having been killed, there was only one lieutenant left for a hundred men, and a few petty officers, which accounted for his explaining his plans to the man and actually listening to what the other had to say. Parck's approval would be useful, because he'd do a damn better job if he believed they _could _make it. Someone who feels like he is going on a suicide mission has usually slight difficulties to focus at the best of his abilities.

Actually, it was not really Dumbledore's plan ; it was rather Rommel's, with a few hints from Tom, but they all had agreed it would be easier if Dumbledore claimed it was his. After all, the men trusted him ; certainly more than Dumbledore himself trusted his two new "friends". From what Rommel had seen, the man did not like Riddle much, and had not made his mind yet about him. But the Feldmarschall was quite certain the elderly wizard knew they hadn't been telling him the truth - not all of it, at least. The man had a hell of an insight. Well, anyway, he would never have agreed to relinquish his command to either of the two newcomers. Which was, truth to be told, understandable.

For the last five minutes or so, that is to say after having been told the plan, Parck had remained gaping, unable to utter a sound. But now, he seemed to steady himself.

"It is plain crazy !" the lieutenant pursued. "You want us to _steal _a hundred german uniforms, without the theft being noticed by the germans. And _then_, you want _him _(he was pointing at the Feldmarschal) to impersonate _Erwin Rommel_, no less ! And take us through german lines pretending he is taking us on a mission !"

He turned toward Rommel, and shook his head.

"Excuse me, sir, but just how do you expect to pull that off ? You'll never impersonate the Desert Fox well enough to impress the guards ! Not to speak about the papers they _will _ask you to show them. And, with all due respect, you just don't have the Feldmarschal's stature. And that is only _if _we manage to steal the uniforms."

The blond german tried very hard not to laugh and to keep a serious face, but that was getting harder each passing second. He choked back a cough.

"My, my", Dumbledore smiled. "You have a way to make it sound dreadful, my boy."

Obviously, the elderly wizard called everyone "my boy". The only one who had skipped the appellation yet was Rommel himself, and he had a feeling his luck would not hold much longer.

"But I can assure you", the wizard captain prattled, "that we have considered all the aspects of the situation, and there are solutions to everything. See - Tom, dear boy, would you mind handing me that map ? - we are here. We can reach the cost between Ras Lanouf and Marsa el-Brega. In Ras Lanouf, there is an important dump, in which we shall find what we need. That is to say, a hundred german uniforms. So, we will move this way..."

Dumbledore's finger drew their way on the map.

"... stop there, not too far from Ras Lanouf, and then we'll send a commando in to steal the uniforms."

"I have already been to Ras Lanouf once - with a disguise, of course", Rommel interrupted, speaking for the first time. "I know where exactly is located the bump. From what I know, Rommel lacks men badly, so it will be a little less difficult to sneak in and outside."

It felt very strange to speak of himself in the third person.

"Allright, we might be able to steal the uniforms - and that's a big maybe. But what if one of the Kraut officers we'll meet on our way knows personnally Rommel, and sees it's not you ?" Parck asked defiantly.

Rommel bit his lips to keep his face straight, while Riddle sniggered and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. As far as the elderly wizard knew, they'd be using a spell to make the germans see him as Rommel. But the truth was, they would not need the spell. Only Riddle knew the whole truth - apart from the Feldmarschal himself, of course - and he seemed to find it amusing to no end.

"No one ever said there wouldn't be risks executing this plan", Dumbledore said soothingly. "I don't think you prefer to wait here, now, do you ?"

The lieutenant lowered his eyes, as aware as his commander was of the lack of water. They had still enough for a week, if they rationed it. But then what ? Turn themselves to the german, after all this ? Rommel was known for the chivalry he exhibited towards his foes, but that did not make defeat any less bitter. No, apart from surrendering, Dumbledore's crazy plan was their best hope.

"I understand, sir", he finally sighed. "And I'll make sure the men do as well. I just hope there would be another solution."

"So do I, my dear fellow. So do I", Dumbledore said wearily, showing for the first time some of the tension and exhaustion he felt.

"By the way, would you happen to have a radio ?" Rommel asked, after they had kept silent for a while.

"Yes", Parck immediately replied. "But it's short range only."

"That's fine. Bring it here, please."

The lieutenant looked at Dumbledore for confirmation, and when the elderly wizard nodded, he aquiesced and went out. Once he had left, Dumbledore cast a sidelong glance at Rommel.

"What do you want the radio for ?" he asked.

"To send a message", the german answered absent-mindedly.

"Yes, I figured that much", the older man replied patiently. "A message to whom ?"

"I have to tell a friend of mine I'll be late", the Feldmarschal explained.

He felt Dumbledore's suspicious glance linger on him, and raised his head to cross the man's scrutiny.

"Really", he muttered.

Then, after checking lieutenant Parck was still busy outside, he drew his wand and directed it toward himself.

"_Juramentum_", he said distinctly.

The two other wizard's eyes widened slightly, as it was an uncommon spell, and difficult to really master. Rommel held Dumbledore's gaze with steely eyes.

"I solemnly swear I am not going to betray you, and that I am really trying to get you safely back to England."

He said nothing about his personnal feeling on the matter, which anyway was irrelevant. Dumbledore hesitated if only for a second, then slowly nodded. If Rommel had been lying under _Juramentum_, some very unpleasant things might have happened to him. As he seemed perfectly at ease, he had to be telling the truth. At least on this matter.

"Fine", the older wizard finally said, though still a little reluctantly. "You may use the radio."

Rommel sheathed back his wand, and a few seconds later Parck entered the tent, unaware of what had happened during his absence.

"Here it is. Do you want me to operate it for you ?" Parck asked politely.

"No, I think I will manage, thank you", the Feldmarschal said, waving him out dismissively.

"Go speak to the men", Dumbledore interrupted. "Tell them we will move as soon as possible and I want them ready to leave. You can also tell them we're going near Ras Lanouf, but nothing else for the moment. We'll explain the rest later."

"Yes sir !"

The lieutenant saluted sharply before leaving the tent. Rommel had already knelt on the ground near the radio, and was starting to activate it, the headset on his ears so he could hear his people's response. Though Dumbledore would hear what he would be saying, he would not hear what Rommel heard. He didn't like it, that much was obvious in the way he looked grumpily at the blond man, but the spell he had used was an irrefutable proof he was on the Allies side. And, once again, Dumbledore sensed no deception - though Rommel's was a shadowy truth. Yet, sometimes, one just had to let things happen.

"Old fox to Sand-fortress one. Procedure 12", Rommel called.

The "old fox" part was his codename when he had to call his men. Knowing his nickname was "the Desert Fox", using such a codename could seem not very subtle, but a lot of his soldiers used the "fox" codename too. So, he wished good luck to the Allies to determine which, between "young fox", "white fox", or "fox company" was him. Not to mention some Allies _also _used the F word in their codenames. So, in the end, it was perfectly safe for him to use it.

He had spoken in english in the radio ; "procedure 12" meant, according to the manual (which Rommel had himself written with his staff) that he feared his transmission might be intercepted by the allies and, so as to confuse them, spoke in english to make them believe it was an Allied transmission. There was still the problem of the accent, but the radio cracked enough to cover most of it, and anyway, in an army where French people were fighting alongside British, Polish, American, of even Dutch people, an accent did not mean that much.

The true reason being, in that case, that Rommel could not really start to speak german in the radio, in front of one suspicious Albus Dumbledore.

There was some crackling, then an answer came, and Rommel recognized the voice of the operator.

"Sand-fortress one, listening. Over."

"Please relay a message to Head of Fortress."

Head of Fortress meant the higher-ranking officer present in HQ, which currently meant major Merhoff.

"He's already here, sir", came the operator's answer. "Do you wish to speak to him directly ?"

"Yes."

Soon, the Feldmarschal heard his subordinate's familiar voice.

"Sir, is everything all right ?"

"Yes, quite. Only my car broke down, and it will take two or three days to have it repaired."

"Do you want me to send you another car ? Captain Aldinger arrived this morning, and I'm sure he would be glad to go fetch you" Merhoff proposed with a concerned voice.

"That won't be necessary. I understand there has been little perturbation while I was not here. I will merely be a little behind schedule, but there is nothing to worry about."

"As you wish, sir", Merhoff reluctantly agreed. "Where are you ?"

"I'm south-west to Bir-Hakeim", Rommel said, and it was barely a lie. "I shall see you in a few days. Over and out", he concluded.

He put back the headset receiver on the radio, and met Dumbledore's curious glance. Riddle already knew what it was all about, of course, so he merely looked slighty bored.

"By the way, I'd like to get my gun back", Rommel said.

"Why ?" Dumbledore retorted with a frown.

"Because otherwise it looks like I am still a prisonner and that you do not trust me, which means your men will not trust me either. And because I don't want to have to get another one when I get back after your departure", he replied patiently.

The elderly wizard shrugged and pointed at the bed - which was the only piece of furniture in the tent anyway - where the gun was lying. Rommel picked his weapon up and sheathed the Lüger back at his side. To the british muggle soldiers, it looked like a browning thanks to the same spell he had cast on his uniform.

"If we travel overnight", the german added, "we shall arrive at Ras Lanouf around four in the morning, which will be the right time for the theft. At the end of the night, the sentries are not quite alert. Once the men will have switched uniforms, we will wait for the morning and then go through german lines. I will be Erwin Rommel, of course. You will be Adler Dumbleschmidt, and Riddle will be Tom Ritter. Your officer will be lieutenant Pancke. Do you or one of your men speak german ?"

"I'm afraid we don't", Dumbledore said ruefully. "Or at least, not well enough to deceive our german friends."

"All right. So I and Riddle will do the talking. You and your men will shut up and try to look as inconspicuous as possible."

Rommel's tone had unconsciously switched back to a commander's, with underlying authority and quiet determination that revealed a man used to be obeyed without questions. Dumbledore added that to the enigma the man was to him, and decided he would have to ponder over it later.

"We will set the details of our little raid while on our way", Rommel concluded.

"What about the car ?" Albus asked.

"We let it here. Riddle and I will come back and take it after your departure."

"You mean you won't be going back to england with us", the elderly wizard said, frowning. "Why ?"

"We have some business unfinished here", Riddle said, speaking for the first time in a while. "Are you worried for us, Professor ?" there was some underlying amusement in his voice.

"I certainly do care for your well-being", Dumbledore replied gravely.

Riddle's sneer showed plainly enough he did not believe his former teacher, but he did not push the matter.

"All right", Rommel cut in, "we do not have any time to lose, so I would suggest we move on. If your men are ready..."

Less than half an hour later, nothing indicated there had ever been a camp somewhere in the area, and the british soldiers, led by Dumbledore, Riddle and Rommel, had begun their long walk to freedom.


	7. Next Time, Send Dumbledore

**A/N** : What ? The disclaimer ? I already wrote it six times, is it really necessary ? Oh, fine... The characters don't belong to me. Libya doesn't belong to me either (and I don't think I would want to have it. Too damn hot.) Besides, if it did belong to me, I certainly wouldn't have allowed my favourite Feldmarschal to go along with that crazy plan of his, I'd prefer to keep it in one piece.

For those who wonder, Rommel was known not only for his chivalry towards his opponents, but also for his recklessness in certain occasions, if what I read about him was correct. He also went often to the front, which his soldiers appreciated and his generals found infuriating.

* * *

_December 1943 - Near Ras Lanouf_

"That's better guarded than I expected", Rommel admitted as he observed through his field glasses the dump they were supposed to raid.

They had walked restlessly after their leave, and they had been able to make it to Ras Lanouf quicker than the Feldmarschal could have hoped ; yet, it did not seem fate was taking it easy on them. His gaze followed one of the two german sentries that walked in front of the front gate. He hoped they would not have to resort to kill them ; for one, he didn't like the idea of killing his soldiers when their only mistake had been to do their job too well ; and secondly, they wanted to be as discreet as possible, and killing two sentries definitely did not fit the word "discretion".

"So what do we do ?" Riddle asked behind him.

They had left Dumbledore's men five kilometers from Ras Lanouf and had walked the rest of the way, with only a half dozen of British soldiers to back them up. Dumbledore himself had remained with his men, though he had needed convincing. But he had strict briefs to leave if Rommel and the others were not back by dawn. Now, knowing whether he would follow these instructions, that was another thing - even if, technically, Rommel outranked him, the annoying captain did not know it. On the way, the Feldmarschal had hinted he belonged to the British Secret Service, but somehow he did not believe the elderly wizard had taken the bait. Yet, it was worth trying.

"We fall back for now. We will need a diversion."

The eight men retreated a few meters away to where they were sure they could not be spotted, and circled around Rommel. He took a branch and started to draw a map on the ground, with simple accurateness that revealed he was accustomed to doing that kind of things.

"The dump is there, we are here. There are several buildings, the nearest is the one we are interested in. The farthest is where we will set the diversion."

"You really think the sentries will leave their duty ? Even if the diversion is on another building ?" asked one of the soliders, Richards or something like that.

"Oh, knowing what's inside the building, yes, I definitely think so..." the Feldmarschal muttered.

Ignoring the curious look of the other soldiers, he dropped his branch and took the bag they had taken with them - just in case. Inside, there were a few medical supplies, some ammo, a lighter and a flask of whiskey. Now, with that, what kind of diversion could he set...

He thought about it for a moment, discarding several ideas as they came to his mind. Finally, he snapped his fingers as he used to when he found a solution long sought, and he turned toward Riddle, a ghostly smile hovering on his lips.

"Now, my dear nephew, here's what you are going to do..."

-------------

Five minutes later, Rommel was back at his observation point, only this time the six British soldiers were with him and Riddle was not. Richards went lying on the ground near him, his eyes shifting nervously around as if he expected to be caught any time.

"Maybe I should have come with him", he said.

"No", Rommel replied. "As I told you, discretion is what matters most, and one is more likely to sneak in unnoticed than two."

Which was not, of course, the real reason why he had wanted Riddle to go alone. But that, the British did not need to know. After all, what they did not know would not hurt them. Besides, they would not have believed him, had he told them.

Suddenly, an explosion was heard, and the light of high flames lit up the night. The blond german smiled ; Riddle obviously had completed his mission.

_Let's hope he does not get caught..._

The two sentries in front of _their _dump had jumped at the sound, and seeing what was going on, they left their station at once, running toward the fire and shouting.

"Good", Rommel said. "I am going first ; when I am inside, I will call for you, and then you will come and pick up the cases."

"Understood", Richards nodded, used to obeying to orders.

The Feldmarschal picked himself up, and started running silently towards the building. It was only a hundred meters away, so he barely needed a few seconds to get there. He tried the door ; as he expected, it was locked. But those who had closed that door had clearly not expected a wizard to come around. But now, who would expect anyone to come there for the sole reason he wanted to steal uniforms ?

"_Alohomora_", Rommel murmured, and he heard the lock opening.

He pushed the door, which was now open, and peered inside. It was dark, and nothing moved. The only sounds were those of men shouting outside, trying to get the fire under control. That should do it, then.

He went back outside, and gestured for the British soldiers to come. They arrived a few seconds later. In their dark clothes, they were not too visible, though the moon was full and the sky clear.

"The door was not closed ?" Richards asked in surprise.

"Of course it was. Did I forget to mention I happen to have a picklock degree ?" the german lied smoothly.

"You did, but that's a nice discovery of your talent", the British replied with a grin.

He and his fellow soldiers followed Rommel inside, and he showed them the stacked up cases, in which he knew were the uniforms - it was written on them in german.

"There must be about twenty-five uniforms in each, so we need four of them", he said. "Two of you take one each, the others pair up and take two more. I'll stay behind and close the door."

They obeyed and picked up the cases full of clothes. Fortunately, they were not too heavy, and they proceeded quickly. As soon as they were out, Rommel left the building and he locked the door as it was before, with the help of magic, making sure no one could see him do so. Five minutes later, they were all back away from the dump. The mission was a success.

Except Riddle was nowhere in sight.

Richards cast the Feldmarschal a concerned look. He had put his load down, and was currently sitting on it.

"What do we do, sir ? Wait for him ?" he asked cautiously.

Rommel hesitated for no more than a mere second.

"No. You go back to camp."

Slightly ill-at-ease, the men shared an unsteady look. Then, Richards, who seemed to be their spokesman, cleared his throat.

"Em - what about you, sir ?"

"I'll wait for him. Go. That is an order."

They seemed about to protest, but they knew he outranked them, since he was obviously an officer, and they really had little choice. Besides, none of them wanted to get caught any more than Rommel did, so they did not really need a lot of persuading.

They were good men, the Feldmarschal thought as he watched them leave. Brave, daring, yet obedient. But now, his german soldiers too were good men. It was so silly, watching men that could have been friends fight to death. All these death, just because Grindelwald had thought that having a bit of Poland would be nice.

He sighed. Away, the fire was receding, and it would soon be extinguished. They would think it had been an accident, and no one would notice the disappearance of the hundred uniform before a very long time. If they ever noticed it, because at the rate Montgomery had been gaining ground, during that last year...

"Waiting for me ?"

The german almost jumped at the voice. Spinning round, he scowled at Riddle, who had been coming behind his back so sneakily he had not heard his footsteps.

"Never. Do. That. Again", he said caustically.

"Oh, my, did I surprise you", Riddle scoffed.

"You are late", the Feldmarschal retorted icily.

"Yes, well, I lit the fire, but I had not expected so many people to come so quickly. So, I was hidden by my invisibility charm, but that would not have prevented them from stumbling over me, and you said to be discreet. I merely waited for them to calm down a little. What was stored in that building anyway ? I didn't think they would react so badly."

"Explosives", Rommel replied off-handedly.

"Oh, right, I understand bet... WHAT ?!"

The german shrugged carelessely. It was his turn to have a laugh.

"Enough of it to blow up Paris and send it on the moon."

"And you sent me there to set fire to the building WITHOUT EVEN WARNING ME ?!"

"Hush", Rommel hissed. "Unless you want them to know we are here."

Riddle glared at him wordlessly, and the german raised an eyebrow.

"What is the matter, anyway ?"

"The matter is, if they had not got the fire under control, I'd be damn dead !"

"So would I, and half Ras Lanouf with us", the Feldmarschal replied. "It was the only way. Besides, it did work."

"Oh, yes", Riddle said sarcastically. "I see _no _reason at all why you should have told me about these explosives. Next time, send Dumbledore. No, actually, next time, _I_ get to give the orders. And believe me, you won't like it one bit."

"You expect there will be a next time ?" Rommel queried innocently.

Riddle looked daggers at him, but did not respond, and by mutual consent they started walking back to camp.

When they arrived there, one hour later, Dumbledore was waiting for them, and he seemed relieved to see them. The elderly wizard welcomed them with a friendly smile, though the german uniform he was wearing made him look a bit off place. The other British soldiers had also traded theirs for german uniforms, and they seemed slightly uneasy in these clothes. Richards waved with his cap, obviously relieved to see them safely back.

The sky was starting to become clearer ; morning was not far. Dumbledore, Riddle and Rommel went aside to discuss their next move out of any ear's reach.

"Now, we have the uniforms, and a rendezvous point", the elderly wizard said.

"So you did manage to get to a radio without being noticed."

"It wasn't difficult to slip into Ras Lanouf. The dump you raided was probably better guarded than the radio. I had to Obliviate the operator, but apart from that, everything went as smoothly as one could expect. We are due, two a.m. each day for a week, so we have all the time to get ready to pass through the ennemy lines", Dumbledore replied contentedly. "I am not sure whether they are sending a submarine of a ship, but it hardly matters."

"That's a good thing", Rommel nodded. "So, we are ready to leave."

"Yes, I believe so."

"But we do not have to leave right now", the german concluded. "We have all the time we need to get some rest. I could use a nap, I think, and that would not hurt you both or the men either."

"I'm not... whaaa... tired", Riddle protested, stiffling a yawn.

"Of course not", Rommel scoffed.

"I believe you are right", Dumbledore nodded. "That place is far enough from Ras Lanouf or any road, so we probably have nothing to fear, and I can add a spell or two so if any muggle approaches, he won't see us."

"Then it is settled. We will spend the night here", the Feldmarschal said, stretching a little.

He certainly felt tired enough to drop on the ground and remain there for the whole day... And whatever Riddle might say, he looked tired too. They had not slept of the night, and they had left quite early the day before, so it was only natural.

The three men quickly discovered that thrown over British uniforms made very nice mattresses.


	8. Innocent Until Proven Guilty

**A/N** : What ? No, I didn't forget anything.

Oh, right. They don't belong to me, because if they did, I could smack Dumbledore on the head.

* * *

_December 1943 - Libya, twenty kilometers away from the coast_

Rommel stirred in his sleep and mumbled something inaudible. He must be dreaming, Tom thought, as he glanced at the sun. It seemed to be about three in the afternoon. They still had plenty of time, as the shore was no more than thirty-odd kilometers away. It could probably be done in six hours. _If _no one stopped them.

The British teen smiled at the irony ; what if Rommel, pretending to be himself, was yet stopped by a mistrustful german officer ? Well, he had papers to prove his identity, but papers could be forged... However, an officer would have some nerve if he dared to tell that to someone who _could _be his commanding officer...

Someone moved behind Tom, and he knew without even turning his head that it was his former teacher, his former most despised teacher at that. Well, former in the sens he was no longer his teacher. Tom _still _despised him.

"Your friend will probably soon wake up", Dumbledore said cheerfully.

"He's not my friend", Tom replied, before cursing himself for being caught off guard that easily.

Yet, thinking of the german as a friend was... strange. Not that they were ennemies ; they even worked well together, so far. But Tom just did not now him well enough to even think of calling him his friend. Maybe later... he sure did like him.

"No ? I was under the impression you both got along pretty well", the captain said with that irksome mirth of his.

"Did you actually want something, or are you just fishing for information ?" Tom retorted, annoyed at the man.

But the elderly wizard, far from losing his temper, became even more cheerful, if it was possible.

"Just curious", he said. "He's not Dutch, is he ?"

"_Professor _!"

"Asking can't hurt. Here, have a lollipop."

Tom's eyes widened as the wizard produced a candy from his pocket. The man was incredible. He was sent on a mission in a desert, and what did he take with him ? Candies !

"You really haven't changed", Tom said in dismay.

Then an idea struck his mind.

"You should offer one to my "friend", over there", he added slyly, with a fiendish smile, pointing at the blond german.

Dumbledore smiled politely and put the candy in his mouth. He looked like a six years old, Tom decided scornfully. And what was more frustrating was that the man just never got angry. Every once in a while, the British teen would have liked to see him lose his temper, shout, slap someone, in one word not resort to this calmness and control of himself.

"Have you known him for a long time ?"

"It's no use, sir", Tom scowled. "If you want to know more about him, then ask _him_, not me."

"Such loyalty", the elderly wizard mused, much to Riddle's irritation.

"I would hardly call it that", he replied. "Only, I'm not your private informer."

"Hmmm", the older man mumbled thoughtfully. "You would not be here if you felt there was a danger to be near this man, of course", he blurted out. "So, what side are you on, my dear boy ?"

Suddenly, he seemed no more like a toddler, but more like a dangerous wizard that wanted answers. He was somewhat less irritating this way. Slightly. But deals of power, Tom understood and mastered more efficiently than Dumbledore's game of making himself look like an inoffensive fool.

"I am British", he said carefully.

This was an act he was used to playing, but Dumbledore had somehow never been really fooled by him, so he had to be careful.

"That's hardly an answer."

"That's the only one I have to offer, sir", Tom replied. "Besides, Rom... ester and myself are your best chance."

He cursed himself. He had nearly given away Rommel's name, and he had a feeling the Feldmarschal wouldn't be pleased if he had. He had never seen the man really angry - and he did not want to. He knew Dumbledore did not like him, so he had to stick by Rommel's side for the moment. At least, the german had no prejudice against him, unlike the old fool.

"That may be so", Dumbledore said slowly.

"Innocent until proven guilty", Tom sneered at him, ironical.

"Quite so", the elderly wizard muttered.

Their discussion was interrupted by the wakening of Rommel. The german rubbed his eyes and checked his watch, then yawned and stretched, before getting on his feet.

"Good afternoon", Dumbledore said with a joyful smile. "Care for a lollipop ?"

He had once more shifted attitudes, and resumed to behaving in his childish manner. Tom scowled. He hated it when he did that.

Rommel cast the man a disbelieving glance, but said nothing. Instead, he turned toward Tom.

"Nothing to report ?"

"Nothing happened while you were sleeping, if that's what you're asking", the teen replied.

The german nodded and cast a side glance to Dumbledore, who had stepped aside and was now talking quietly to one of his men.

"He is always like that ?" he asked Tom in a subdued tone.

"No. You're lucky, he's slightly less irritating right now than he used to be when I was in school. You should enjoy it as long as it last."

"Oh my", the Feldmarschal muttered mockingly.

"Oh, don't worry. You'll get used to it. It's easier to stand him after the first three years or so, you just stop paying attention to his childish manners", Tom groaned.

"Right now, I'm hoping I won't have to."

The german made his way to Dumbledore, followed by Riddle. As he approached the elderly wizard, he recognized the soldier he was talking to ; that was the lieutenant, Jonathan Parck.

"Captain, a word if you please."

"Of course, the british wizard replied, as cheerful as ever.

"We shall leave soon. Better be ahead of schedule."

"I certainly agree", the other nodded. "Lieutenant, would you be so kind as seeing to it that the men are prepared to leave any moment ?"

"Yes sir !" the british officer saluted, and left to do as he had been told, leaving the three wizards alone.

Once he was out of hearing range, Rommel cast a glance at Dumbledore. He did not want to do it, but he had no choice, especially after the discussion he had overheard between Riddle and the wizard captain.

"I take it there is another matter you wanted to talk to me about ?" the older man asked.

"Quite so", Rommel admitted. "You don't trust me", he stated bluntly.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly, but he kept smiling friendly.

"You hardly gave me any reason to. And you don't trust me either, otherwise you wouldn't have used that _audire _spell."

"So you knew all along", the german said, impressed.

Despite the childish attitude the elder man enjoyed displaying, he was obviously powerful. The Feldmarschal was starting to understand just why Cornwall had told him the man was an important asset in this raging war.

"Fine", Rommel said sharply. "We need to work together. What will it take for you to trust me ? I already used the _juramentum _spell. Obviously, it did not convince you. What will it take ? Veritaserum ?"

"My dear fellow", Dumbledore replied smoothly, "I do not make a habit of it to walk around with vials full of veritaserum in my pockets, as I am quite sure you suspect."

"Then ?"

"Tell me your true name."

Dumbledore observed closely the other man's reaction as he said that last sentence. He did not need any kind of potion to know when a man was lying - he had legilimency. Though the german seemed to be unconsciously clouding his mind, preventing him from accessing his thoughts, the elderly wizard was still quite sure he could differ lies from the truth.

Rommel tensed slightly, though he quickly got a hold of himself. He shot Dumbledore a calculating glance, as if pondering whether he should trust the man or not. This distrust alone told the elderly wizard there was indeed a secret hidden in this man.

"What makes you think Romester isn't my real name ?"

"Oh, please", Dumbledore sighed. "Don't insult my intelligence. I can see when someone is lying to me - though you are indeed talented in that particular matter."

The german stiffed and narrowed his eyes at the man.

"Don't ask, and I will tell you no lies", he quoted with a smirk.

"I'm afraid that is not nearly satisfying enough", the older man replied sternly.

"Oh, well. I could tell you another name. But that would be showing quite some faith in you, now, wouldn't it ?" the Feldmarschal observed off-handedly. "Why should _I_ trust you ?"

Now, he had a point, Dumbledore had to admit. But still...

"We are in a stalemate", the elderly wizard said. "One of us has to show some trust at this point, or we won't get anywhere."

"Or you could trust me and not ask questions."

"Or you could trust me, and answer my questions."

They stared at each other, but they both had to admit they were indeed in an impasse. One of them had to give way. Problem was, none of them wanted to.

"Oh, please", Riddle said with exasperation. "I'm frying, here, could we move on ? The swiftest you are all out, the swiftest will I get that cold drink I've been dreaming about ever since I came here."

He wiped the sweat on his forehead. Merlin, he was tired of this country already ! And he had barely been there for three days...

"Sir", he adressed Dumbledore, "we have been sent to help you by the minister for magic himself. If you master legilimency, you can see I'm not lying. So, can you please get over your blatant mistrust and start saying "innocent until proven guilty" as you always did when I was telling you of some other student's pranks ? Why is it you only say it when it bothers me ?"

A little surprised by that unlikely outburst, Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"You seem quite vehement about that, my dear boy. But as I am well aware of some... doubtful acquaintances you have had previously, I felt the need to be cautious. Surely you would not blame me for that ?"

"I am well aware that you do not trust me either", Riddle replied. "But as we were sent by minister Cornwall, then it all comes down to the question ; do you trust _him _? If you don't, I'll start wondering why you came here in the first place."

"Tom, dear boy, the fact that I am no longer your teacher does not allow you to show disrespect", Dumbledore admonished him.

But he had to admit the teen scored a mark. Anyway, they needed to be moving. And that Romester or whatever fellow had been helping them. So far. But he would get to know the truth, the elderly wizard decided. Even if he had to pester the minister himself to get the information.

"Very well", he finally nodded. "Let's get going, then."

He turned away from them, and called in a loud voice for lieutenant Parck. A few minutes later, they were on their way to finish the last part of their journey.


	9. They Were Ten And A Machine Gun

**A/N** : Disclaimer ? What disclaimer ?

Ah, _that _disclaimer. Right. Aldinger's not really mine, historically speaking he was Rommel's aide. I thought it would be nice to have him in the story. On the other hand, Merhoff _is _mine. The patrol too. And, yes, Tom's sunburn is mine as well. Yes, I know, the disclaimer is about what I don't own, not the contrary. Let's say everything else is not mine. I forgot to mention Cornwall, but no one cares about him anyway.

* * *

_December 1943, On the way to the Libyan coast_

"Halt !"

The man, a young-looking lieutenant clad in a german uniform, had stepped in front of them, making his intentions quite clear. Besides, the patrol car standing about ten meters away had a machine gun on it, and two german soldiers ready to use it.

Rommel raised a hand so as to make everyone behind him stop, and he cursed under his breath. They had been lucky, so far, not encountering any patrol, but of course it couldn't be _that _easy to get out of the country. Now, they would have to face that patrol and make them believe one of the poorest lies the Feldmarschal had ever set up.

But it was not as if he had had any choice in the first place. Time was running against them.

He looked hard at the lieutenant, who was now approaching them with strides. Noticing Rommel's insignias, the yound man immediately snapped to attention.

"Lieutenant Langenscheidt, patrol number seven. I have to check your identity", he said in german.

"Yes, yes", Rommel said irritably in the same language, playing his act. "Ritter, take care of that."

Riddle stepped forward. He had put on a uniform, as he would have seemed out of place in civilian clothes, and it had been quite painful, as he had the worst sunburn he had ever seen. Even now, moving with the fabric rubbing on his back was aching, and he was really starting to regret he had not heeded Rommel's warning the day before, when he had carelessly removed his shirt. But, well, nothing could be done about it, so he would just have to bear with it. Gritting his teeth out of pain, he gave Landenscheidt the papers. As he was acting as Rommel's aid, it was only natural that he should take care of such matters.

"Here", he said, his voice a little hoarse because of the dryness of his throat. They had little water left, and needed to spare it. Even more knowing that he and Rommel would depend on it to get back to where they had left the car. Taking it along with them would have been easier, but they had not so much fuel left.

The lieutenant examined the papers, then suddenly shot an incredulous look towards the Feldmarschal. Obviously, he had just read the name of the officer he had arrested so casually. His face betraying a slight uneasiness, he resumed his scrutiny of the papers. He had to yield to the facts, they seemed genuine. He gave the papers back to Riddle and saluted Rommel.

"Sir, it is an honour to meet you. I apologize, I did not expect to see you here... I mean..." the young man's face reddened a little as he stammered his words of excuse.

"No, it's quite all right", Rommel replied, raising a hand to stop the man's babbling. "You were merely doing your duty. I would have been displeased if you had _not _stopped me."

"Yes sir !" Langenscheidt barked, saluting once more.

If he did that only once more, Rommel was going to get a headache.

"Now, you should resume your patrol."

"Yes sir !"

"However, I don't want that incident mentioned to anyone", the Feldmarschal added with a slightly conspirating look.

"Are you on a secret mission, _Herr _Feldmarschal ?" the lieutenant gave a jump at the thought.

"I guess you could call it that", Rommel replied with a dismissive gesture.

"Yes sir. Not mention will be made to anyone", Langenscheidt replied. Then he hesitated. "Not even in my report, sir ?"

"Not at all", the blond man replied in a commanding tone.

"Yes sir."

Obviously, this lieutenant also knew the unwritten rule ; always agree to whatever your superiors say. Rommel was almost tempted to say something sheer daft, like "the gestapo are nosy rats", or "Goering is a fat pig", just to see if Langenscheidt would still answer with a "yes, sir". Instead, he gave a brief nod.

"If that is all, you are dismissed, lieutenant."

"Yes SIR !" the lieutenant clicked his heels and saluted. Once more.

The good side was that he left at once, and his men followed him back into their car. Soon enough, they were away from the British group, and Rommel heaved a sigh of relief. Everything had run more smoothly than he could have hoped for.

Dumbledore stepped ahead and watched the cloud of dust the german patrol car left behind it. He did not look worried in the least. God, than man was irritating ! Either too childish, or too serious. No in-betweens.

"You think they bought it ?" the elderly wizard asked.

"I don't see any reason why they would not. They did not seem suspicious", Riddle shrugged.

"Yes", Dumbledore replied patiently, "but they were ten and we are a hundred. It would have been unreasonable for them to show any surprise."

"They outnumbered us. They were ten and a machine gun", Rommel groaned caustically. "Had we tried anything foolish, they could have slaughtered us. I'm more concerned about their silence. I hope they keep their mouth shut as I ordered them to."

"Well, in any case, we still have some a long way to go", Dumbledore concluded. "We should resume walking."

They did as he had said, since there was nothing else to do. It was not easy to walk like that on the sand, sparing their water as much as they could. The sultriness made Riddle sweat more and more each passing minute - or at least he felt that way. He cast a sideways glance to Rommel. The german was still wearing his leather coat, and his uniform jacket underneath, and he did not even seem to be bothered by the heat. There had to be a trick.

He wiped his forehead once more, the sweat trickled over his face and sometimes even ran in his eyes.

After two hours more of walking, and another encounter with a german patrol (which ended very much like the first) they finally reached their goal ; the shore. Riddle smelt the salty air before even hearing the sound of the waves, and he heaved a sigh of relief. He was not sure he would have borne it much longer. Damn these muggle soldiers ; without them, it would have been so easy to Apparate !

Night had since long fallen when they finally stepped on the beach and stopped walking. Most of the men sat on the ground with alleviation, and Dumbledore allowed them to drink and to eat something. Rommel checked his watch. The ship was due at two a.m., and it was around one a.m. So, one hour to wait. He hated being there, in plain sight, even thought a few clouds darkened the night.

Behind the Feldmarshal, Riddle removed his uniform jacket and his shirt, bitting his lips so as not to cry. The blond man turned his head toward him.

"Maybe you should ask Dumbledore to have a look at that. I'm certain he is talented with healing charms. I'd do it myself, but as you so cleverly guessed, I'm no good with that kind of magic."

"I'd ask Grindelwald before going to Dumbledore for such a petty matter", the teen retorted angrily.

"As you please", the german replied quietly.

He did not see Riddle as a boy. He was seventeen, and mature enough ; he did not need mothering, and even if he had, Rommel was not the person he would have to turn to. Which meant, he was big enough to take care of himself. If he preferred the pain to a dent in his pride, then so be it.

He sat on the ground, and after a few minutes, Riddle came to sit next to him. They watched the sea and its waves silently, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Tom absent-mindedly rubbed a handful of sand. He hated waiting ; he was not much of a patient person.

"Are you married ?" he suddenly asked, tired of the silence.

He guessed the movement more than he saw Rommel raise an eyebrow.

"Why do you ask ?"

"Just curious", the teen replied with a shrug.

There was a long silence, and Riddle thought he wouldn't answer, but just at that moment, the Feldmarschal started talking.

"I have a wife and a son. Most of the time, they stay at Scheinacht Castle. What about you ?" he added, a little harshly.

"_Me _?" Riddle choked. "I'm seventeen !"

"Your point is ?" the german scoffered.

"No one marries at seventeen !" the teen grew indignant.

"I've seen it happen."

"Well, that's twisted. What are your wife and son's name ?" the British boy insisted.

"She's Lucie. And my son's name is Manfred."

"You are not going to show me a picture of them ?" Tom pressed him.

"I don't go around with a picture of them. You see that only in these hollywood movie dramas", the german scowled. "Tell me about you. Any sibling ?"

He never had even thought of asking that kind of things to the British teen, but the boy's asking about his family had made him a little homesick, especially given that he had no way to know when he would see them again, and that he had missed Manfred's birthday, which was on Christmas' Eve. Civilians were not allowed to use floo powder in wartime, and besides, there weren't any chimneys they could use to get to Africa. Apparition was also regulated in wartime, and anyway Manfred could neither have come along nor stayed, left on his own while he was only six. Rommel could Apparate freely, thanks to his rank, but the privilege did not extend to his family. Broom-flying was also dangerous in wartime, with all the fights between the Luftwaffe and Allied planes, not to mention how exhausting it would have been for Lucie. Besides, he preferred to know his family safe in Germany, even if that meant he could not see them as much as he would have liked to.

"I don't have any sibling", the British teen finally replied.

For some reason, the question about his family had darkened Riddle's mood.

"What about your parents ?" Rommel insisted.

The teen had been somewhat prying, so he did not have any qualm doing the same thing.

"Dead", the boy replied tersely.

The Feldmarschal nodded in understanding. His own parents had died too, but only after his father had talked him out of becoming an engineer, as he wanted to when he was younger.

He didn't expect Riddle to say more about his family, as it seemed to disturb him, so he was surprised when the teen continued, in a quiet voice.

"I was raised in an orphanage, but I found out about my parents. I don't regret not getting to know them. If they didn't care enough to keep me with them, then they don't deserve any consideration."

These were harsh words in such a young man's voice - for at this moment, he was undoubtedly a man, and yet all the same he was still a child craving for love and recognition. But the child inside him had steeled himself, and there remained only glimpses of who he could have been, had his life been different. A very strange boy, indeed.

"Maybe not everyone is meant to have children", Rommel finally said with a shrug, knowing Riddle would not accept any sympathy, nor any dwelling on the matter.

"Maybe", the teen agreed.

They remained silent after that, until Rommel suddenly stiffened, as he had seen a light shining through the darkness of the night, far away on the ocean.

"The signal" he hissed, and he turned his head toward Dumbledore.

But the elderly wizard was already up, and with a torch gave the answer to the code. He flashed three times, then waited for ten seconds, then flashed twice more. The expected answer seemed to come, as the man lowered the torch with a wide smile. He then approached Rommel and Riddle, the torch still in his hand.

"Seems like our transportation just arrived. They will send yawls, I expect, to take us onboard."

"Are you convinced, at last, that I am on your side ?" the Feldmarschal replied smoothly.

"It does seem like you are."

That was hardly a positive answere, and Rommel slightly scowled, before steadying himself and adressing the elderly wizard an exquisitively polite smile.

"Have a nice trip", he said sweetly, wishing the weather would be bad. Maybe the man would get seasick if it happened.

"Thank you. I hope you will be able to get back to, ah... your usual activities soon."

"I'm sure you do", Rommel replied dryly, in a doubtful tone.

"Tom, my dear boy, don't put yourself in harm's way", the elderly wizard added.

At that same moment, the first of the dinghies sent by the British ship accosted, and Dumbledore walked away to speak with their rescuers. Riddle and the Feldmarschal watched the British soldiers, who were startint to get in the yawls, while Dumbledore supervised them.

"I believe his last sentence meant 'don't stay too close of your german friend'", Rommel said snidely.

"You think he figured it out ?" Tom sneered scornfully.

"I'm almost certain he knows I am german. But nothing more."

"I agree", Riddle snorted. "Otherwise, he would have tried to take you back to England as his prisonner."

Rommel chuckled at the thought. Powerful or not, Dumbledore would have found someone able to fight back, had he tried such a foolish thing.

It took about an hour to get all the British soldiers safely on the ship. When Dumbledore's turn came, at last, (as the commanding officer, he had to be the last to leave), he merely nodded at the Feldmarschal and Riddle, and moments later he was out of sight. The two wizards remained alone in the night.

It felt good, not to be surrounded by all these men, Tom thought. He did not like such proximity, and he had done everything he could to avoid speaking with them, not even answering when they asked him questions. They had quickly given up, and even quicker because they believed he was an officer. Well, he _did _look older than he actually was.

"What do we do, now ?" he asked the Feldmarschal, whom he was starting to feel comfortable with, after that little adventure.

"Are you tired ?" the other man replied.

"That's rude to answer a question with another question", the boy smirked, "but actually, I'm not. We had some rest this afternoon, remember ?"

"Then I suggest we start going back to the car, and make the most of the coolness of the night while we still can."

"That's a good idea. At least, now we're rid of Dumbledore", the teen replied, holding back a sigh when he though of the heat they would have to endure the next afternoon. Merlin, he hated that country...

_Axis Forces Headquarters, Bir-Hakeim_

Seated in the officer's mess, captain Aldinger took a sip of coffee, before putting down again the cup. He absent-mindedly turned the spoon in the hot liquid, and cast a sideways glance to major Merhoff, his direct superior officer.

"Any news yet, sir ?" he queried, without needing to specify whom he was speaking of.

His long time friendship with the major allowed him to speak to him in such a casual manner, though any other officer would probably have been quelled for speaking out of turn. As it was, Merhoff merely bit his lip and drew a cigarette from his pack. Aldinger lift his lighter out and offered the flame to the major, who used it to light his cigarette.

"Well, not yet", he said, puffing some smoke.

"Are you not worried ?" Aldinger asked, slightly surprised by his friend's flippancy.

"You know as well as I do that his methods are quite unique", Merhoff responded, but that was hardly a real answer. Aldinger frowned.

"Would you happen to know something I don't ?" he finally asked.

The major smirked, which was as revealing as if he had said "yes" out loud.

"You enjoy making me worry, don't you", Aldinger growled, crossing his arms.

"I don't _know _anything", Merhoff said. "But I do have a theory", he added after crossing his subordinate's glare.

Aldinger said nothing but waited intently, his arms still crossed in front of him. Though the captain was hardly in any position to demand answers, Merhoff relented.

"I told you about that 'nephew' of his. My guess is the Feldmarschal left on a special mission."

"Himself ? With that young man, Ritter ?"

"Hardly a man", Merhoff scoffed. "he must still be in his teens, or at least no older than twenty."

"Which makes the whole idea even weirder", Aldinger retorted.

"Just think about it", the major replied. "The nephew story, that whole thing is just a set up, so what other explanation could there be ? You know about the Feldmarschal's tendencies to go to the front, to be 'closer to his soldiers', as he says."

"Oh, I do", Aldinger moaned. "Each time one of his generals wants to speak to him, _I_ have to fetch him, and most of the time he refuses to come back. And that's only when I am able to find him."

"So just how surprising would it be for him to go on a special mission ?"

"Well, if you put it that way, maybe not _so _strange", Aldinger admitted. "But that's not exactly the same thing to go to the front and to go on a mission, especially if he did not even tell you about it. Besides, I think there is anyhow something that bothers you. Else you would not be frowning like that."

"Is that so obvious ?" the major complained. "I must confess, I do not trust that Ritter boy. They may have left on an assignment together, but I'm sure he has something to do with the gestapo. Maybe he was sent here by _Reichsführer _Himmler."

That was the first time the major told about his suspicions to anyone, and he felt better having expressed his concern.

"If that is the case, there is nothing we can do", Aldinger observed.

"Maybe", Merhoff scowled. "But I intend to watch Ritter when he comes back. He won't get an occasion to threaten the Feldmarschal. Rommel is about our only chance to fight back successfully the Allies, and I have a great deal of respect for the man, though he can be pretty annoying with his lack of concern for his own safety."

"Then, you can count on me to help you", Aldinger said earnestly. "No gestapo man - or boy, for that matter - will get to _our _Feldmarschal."

Ending note : I read recently on a site about Rommel's methods and character ; he was indeed sometimes reckless with his own safety. Here is a quote from the website "achtung panzer" :

_"Also, Rommel commanded his units from the frontline, since he felt it was important for the commander to always be near his troops. Erwin Rommel was always with the reconnaissance troops and sometimes he cut the communication with the High Command, because he didn't want to be disturbed. Rommel realized that the High Command didn't know about tank warfare, so he simply cut the communication and explained everything later. His staff criticized Rommel for his behavior and they were often unable to find out where Rommel was."_


	10. Are We There Yet ?

**A/N : **Yes, yes, I know. The disclaimer. I still have trouble writing in english, so just when would I have written the Harry Potter books ? It's all Rowling's. Rommel's plan is also not mine but his, he really used it against Allied forces, though not in this situation. But you will know more about it in the next chapter. Aldinger and Merhoff are still mine, but apart from that everything is history or belongs to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

_December 1943 - Desert of Libya_

Riddle's body ached all over. His feet burned, he was thirsty, and deadly tired. And he _hated _that bloody country !

As always, Rommel did not seem to suffer from the heat, though he did look tired. Not enough sleep in the past days had taken its toll on him. Now that everything was over and the stress was starting to fall away, they both felt all the more their exhaustion.

"Are we there yet ?" Tom croaked.

He hated to sound childish like that, but he was just too tired too care any more, and besides Rommel was in no state to laugh at him, so it did not matter all that much.

"Soon", the Feldmarschal replied in a hoarse voice.

They had run out of water several hours ago. The car should not be very far away, but the problem was to actually find it. They could not just Apparate near it, because they did not know where it was, and location was crucial when Apparating - unless one wanted to splinch himself.

Tom had sworn to himself he would not ask the question, but he relinquished his pride, because he could not stand that heat any more.

"Just how do you do that ?" he asked the Feldmarschal irritatedly.

"Do what ?" the other wizard replied caustically.

Either the exhaustion was going hard on his mood, or he did not like to be adressed to in that tone of voice.

"You don't seem to be even bothered by this sultriness", the teen growled accusatively.

"It's not that warm", the german smirked.

"Yes it is, and you know it", Riddle snarled. "Tell me how you do it or I will hex you the next time you turn your back on me."

"Try your luck", the blond man answered dryly.

He obviously did not like being threatened. Tom had not been diplomat enough, he had to admit. He retained a sigh. He could not resign himself to begging. That would be weak, and under him. He could not. He would not.

But it was still too damn hot.

They kept walking for a while. Tom felt like he was in a furnace. He even had the impression it was getting warmer and warmer, though his intelligence told him it was merely a trick of his mind.

He would not beg.

He would not.

"Please..." he finally moaned, cursing inwardly the other man. "Tell me how you do that."

The plea seemed to slacken the german's anger at him for being threatened, and he smiled to the British teen as if everything was already forgotten. Tom glared at him wordlessly.

"That's easy. I cast a cooling charm on my clothes."

"Just... just like that !" Tom choked. "That is _that _simple !"

"Most of the time, people don't see simple solutions because they are too focused on complex ideas", Rommel replied, shrugging. "You can't imagine how easily I sometimes tricked the Allied with stunts a child could have thought of."

He beckoned Tom to come closer, and, drawing his wand, he touched his clothes lightly with the tip. Almost at once, the teen felt his clothes freshen, and he had a sigh of delight. Now he understood just how the man could bear a leather coat, of all things.

"Thanks", he gasped. "That's much better."

"My pleasure."

"Would you happen to know how to get us some water ?" Riddle queried hopefully.

"No", the Feldmarschal shook his head ruefully. "If I did, I would have done it, believe me. I've been working on that problem in my spare hours, but the problem is, you can't just transfigurate water from anything. It doesn't work with sand - and I've tried. It doesn't work with palm trees either."

"What about the air ?" Tom asked, after thinking about the matter for a few minutes.

"Not consistent enough. I believe African wizards managed to do it, but the secret seems to be lost - or very well guarded."

"We've found it", Riddle interrupted.

The german cast him a skeptical glance.

"No, we have not", he said, obviously wondering if the teen had lost his mind.

"Not the secret to make water, the car !" Tom exclaimed, rolling his eyes.

And, true enough, the staff car was there, waiting for them. Its black paint made it easy enough to spot in the sand, and Rommel wondered how they had not seen it before. Then he discarded the thought ; he did not really care. The only thing that mattered was now they were going to have something to drink. They overleaped the hundred meters or so that still kept them apart from the car, and Rommel grabbed a water flask that he gave mechanically to the teen ; Tom being under his command, he felt it was his responsibility as a commander to drink last.

The teen did not even bother to think about it ; he drank a long gulp, and another, and still another, feeling as if he could never have enough of it. He forced himself to stop and to give the flask to Rommel, and he reddened slightly when he realized he had not left much of the precious liquid to his friend.

His friend. The thought surprised him. Not long ago, he refused to think of the man that way. But, he did like him, and he was comfortable around him, and somehow... he felt like he could come to trust him, someday. What did that make him ? A friend-to-be ?

He had enough pride not to let himself being threatened, yet he was not arrogant, unlike some of the other students, at Hogwarts, who, whether they were from Slytherin or any other house, were quick to judge other people and to decide just what they were worth. Of course, the man wasn't perfect. He was sometimes stubborn, and often had crazy plans and crazy ideas. He even manipulated people, like when he had asked Tom to burn that building without telling him what was inside. But he had one important quality ; he treated him like a man. Not like a boy, or a child who needed to be kept an eye on all the time. He had never tried to mother him, unlike Dumbledore when he had first arrived at Hogwarts.

Rommel put down the flask, unaware of the teen's thoughts, and he slid himself in the driver's seat. Riddle went to the opposite side of the car to sit near him, still unsure of what he felt toward the man. Having friends, that was a weakness. Could it also be a strength ?

He was too tired to think clearly, he decided. He'd ponder about that once they would be back.

"Aren't you too tired to drive ?" he asked the Feldmarschal. Not that he cared, but he was too in the car. Or so he told himself.

"I'll be fine", the german replied. "I just want to be back as soon as possible."

"And have a bath", Tom went further. "A nice cold bath."

Rommel had a quiet laugh, as he started the car, and began to turn so as to head back to his Headquarters.

"You might be disapointed. Baths in Africa are more something like puddles for an Englander", he said.

"I'll bath in a hundred black chicken's blood if need be, but I _will _bath", Tom groaned playfully.

"Good luck to find the chickens", the german chuckled.

They made some progress over the next hours, but none of them talked much, as they both still felt the thirst and were too tired to keep the conversation alive. They arrived at Bir-Hakeim at dusk, and entered the Feldmarschal's Headquarters with relief. By that time, Riddle had already changed back to his civilian clothes, and Rommel had dispelled the charm on his cloths and the car that camouflaged them.

As the german stopped the car, two officers went outside to greet him. Tom recognized one of them as being the major, ah, what was his name... Merhoff ! The other one, he had never seen before.

"Sir, we're glad to have you back", the major said in a tone that bore his sentence out. He was almost gasping with relief, the teen thought nastily.

"Oh, believe me, I'm glad to be back too", Rommel muttered. "Did something happen while I was not here ?" he added more loudly.

"Well, sir, you could say that, yes", the major answered, seeming suddenly a little ill-at-ease.

"All right, but first, where is general Loewy ?" the Feldmarschal asked, frowning.

"The general is... part of the problem", the captain said, speaking for the first time.

He was not quelled by Rommel for speaking when no one had asked for his opinion, which meant they had probably known each other for some time, and at least some kind of friendship existed between them, Tom mused.

"But maybe you want to talk about it when you will have had the time to freshen up a little, and in some... privacy", Merhoff cut his subordinate with a discreet glance at the teen. The Feldmarschal took a deep breath.

"My office", he finally ordered.

After all, it may not be a very good idea to discuss confidential material outside, where anyone could hear. The two officers and Riddle followed Rommel in the building next to which he had parked the car, a big colonial house where he had set his Headquarters when he had first arrived in Bir-Hakeim, because it was big enough to take in most of his staff. They climbed up the stairs, and finally reached his office, which seemed a bit crowded with so much people in a rather small room.

The captain entered last, for he had taken the time to bring a pitcher of water with him. Gratefully, Tom accepted a glass, pretending not to see the disappointed looks the two german officers cast in his direction. Obviously, their idea of privacy included Riddle _not _being there. Too bad for them the Feldmarschal did not share their opinion.

"So, what happened ?" Rommel queried impatiently.

"If I may", the major said, clearing his throat, "I'd rather Aldinger tells you. He is the one who got the message."

"Well ? What message, Aldinger ?"

The captain seemed a little uncomfortable, being suddenly the center of everyone's attention, but he straightened himself and dutifully reported to his commanding officer.

"I was in the radio control room when general Loewy called. He was supposed to come to Bir-Hakeim with some of his troops, but an Allied offensive cut his way back here, and since then he had been unable to go through. We have had no news for now nearly twelve hours. As far as we know, the general lacks supplies, water, food, fuel, everything. I fear he won't hold much longer."

The Feldmarschal started pacing, a deep frown on his face. He finally stopped and faced the major.

"Merhoff, what troops do we have here ?"

"We dispose of the tenth Panzer Division, a few light Italian tanks, and supply trucks. But from what the general told us, it is far from being enough to push back the Allies. They have dozens of tanks, fresh men and supplies, and it doesn't look like Montgomery is ready to yield ground."

"We'll see about that", Rommel murmured thoughtfully.

A ghostly smile slowly spread on his face, as he drew a map out and started to study it. He took a pen on his desk and started to annotate the piece of paper in red ink.

"Loewy must be around here" he said, pointing at Tobrouk. "And we are here, in Bir-Hakeim. Which means the Allied lauched their attack from the sea, probably, because they would have been spotted if they had walked through North Africa."

"But the problem remains", Aldinger pointed out. "We do not have enough men and supplies."

Riddle kept silent, as he knew that was not his field. He was a very gifted wizard, he knew it, but military strategy was not something he had had any occasion to study at Hogwarts. Given the chance, he knew he would probably be good at it, for when he tried hard enough he was sure he could do anything. But for now, he preferred to watch and listen.

"Oh, yes, we will have enough men. Or so will think the Allies, which is the most important", the Feldmarschal said with satisfaction.

The two officers were at a loss to understand what he meant, as was Riddle, but they were used to his unique methods, and knew he would explain them his plan once he would have had the time to think it over. It was probably another crazy idea with no chance to work at all... but that was the Desert Fox.

"What do you want us to do ?" Merhoff finally asked.

"I want all our fighting strength ready to leave tomorrow, at dawn. See to it that my staff car is filled up, I think there is not much fuel remaining."

"When you say all our fighting strength, does that include the light tanks and the supply trucks ?" Aldinger queried.

"Of course ! Otherwise, I would have told you so", Rommel replied eagerly.

The two officers shared a discouraged glance, but they had been in the military long enough to learn to obey without questions, and they saluted sharply, clicking their heels before turning away and leaving the room.

Tom poured himself another glass of water, as the Feldmarschal drank up his own, and thoughtfully started to turn it between his fingers. Rommel shot him an amused glance.

"So ? Do you want to come along, or will you rather stay here ?" the german questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Well", Tom said, playing along, "I'm not sure I understood everything. An Allied offensive cut your men from Bir-Hakeim, but I thought you were on our side ? So, how comes you keep fighting the Allies with such cunning efficiency, when you are supposed to help us ?"

Rommel took a sip of his glass, then slowly put it back on his desk. He glanced at the dark night, outside, thougtful.

"In this war, there is the muggle side, and there is the wizard side", he finally said quietly. "I will fight against Grindelwald, by any means necessary, and if that means giving information to the Allies or saving one of their officers, then so be it. Yet, I am still a german, and I will defend Germany at any cost. My only hope is that, once Grindelwald is dead, and someone else takes his place, we will be able to stop that madness and put an end to the war."

"I think I understand", Tom said after ruminating the Feldmarschal's words. "But who would take over, once Grindelwald is dead ? Goering ? Himmler ?"

The german's face darkened when he heard these two names, and his voice was dripping with contempt when he answered.

"Never. Germany has suffered enough. If need be, they will be killed too, though I would much prefer they get a trial. But the name of the one that could replace Grindelwald is still to be kept a secret."

"Don't you trust me ?" Riddle asked inquisitively.

The Feldmarschal scowled.

"Would _you _trust me with an information of that importance ?" he replied. "Anyway, now that I have told you of my position in this war, you still need to decide what you intend to do. If you don't want to come and maybe have to fight again your fellow countrymen, I would not blame you."

"They are muggles", Tom snorted. "Not much of a wizard's countrymen. I will come, and defend myself against them if need be. You fight against Grindelwald, or so you told me ; I do too, so we are on the same side. As for the 'muggle side of the war', as you put it, I don't care much about it, so everything is fine."

"As you wish", Rommel said without betraying his deeper thoughts, though he cast a strange look at the British teen. "Then, be ready to leave tomorrow at dawn. I suggest you get some rest till then."

"Yes, I will do that", Riddle nodded. "See you tomorrow."

After that, he left the Feldmarschal's office, intent on getting that bath before going to bed.


	11. He Has Gone Sheer Crazy

**A/N :** Rommel belongs to JKR, Tom Riddle is an historical character.

Or is it the contrary ?

* * *

_December 1943, south of Tobrouk_

Captain Aldinger checked his watch, and cursed under his breath. They were a little late, and timing was crucial for the Feldmarschal's plan to work. Raising his hand, he gestured for the vehicles to speed up.

Near him, his long time friend, major Merhoff, coughed and spat on the ground. The air was thick with dust and sand, as the long line of trucks and light tanks behind them raised volutes of grit. It was rather normal, since each of them were dragging bushes and bundles of wood. The aim of the whole thing was to make clouds of dust as big as possible.

And it shall work, Aldinger thought inwardly. With all this hurly-burly, if the Allies did not take the bait... Seeing all this, they would believe it was a full-scale attack, and they would probably flee, believing to be outnumbered. Rommel, who was waiting farther to the south-west, would know how to take advantage of the stampede that would probably follow.

All they had to do, now, was to hurry a little. And try not to eat too much dust...

The captain shared a look with Merhoff. Talking was not easy with all the noise they made, but the good side was that at least, they did not have to worry about being overheard.

"Major, what do we do about Ritter ?" he asked, feeling the taste of the sand in his mouth.

"He stayed with the Feldmarschal", Merhoff replied angrily. "But who knows... accidents happen, in war time..."

Unaware of those unfriendly thoughts, Riddle was waiting in Rommel's staff car, a little tense because of the two lieutenants seated in the back of the car. His "friend" had offered him to go with Aldinger and Merhoff to get the bait ready, because there would be much less chances for him to get shot, but he had preferred to stay with him. He had somehow a feeling the two german officers did not like him, and he did not like them either anyway. Besides, he figured he'd be pretty safe wherever Rommel was, because the germans would certainly do anything to keep him alive.

And there they were, and there they had been for now over six hours. At least, the heat was not a problem anymore, but Tom's sunburn was, and the itch and burning he felt each time the fabric of his clothes rubbed against his back was going to drive him sheer crazy within the next two hours, of that he was certain. But nothing could be done ; as far as he knew, he and the Feldmarschal were the only wizards present, and he already knew Rommel was no better than him with healing charms.

"Just how much longer do we have to wait ?" he grumbled, and Rommel cast him an amused look.

"Growing impatient already, dearest nephew of mine ?" he queried mockingly.

"If 'already' is 'after six hours' for you, then definitely yes."

"Do not worry. It is almost time", the german reassured him.

Tom's gaze wandered at the panzer division, in front of them. He had to admit, that was impressive to see. They had quite some firepower, and they seemed able to maoeuvre as if they were one. It was obvious that they were used to working together, and their drills had been as perfect as any officer could have dreamt. Now, they were camouflaged behind sand dunes, and mostly invisible. But of course, that would not be enough to stop Montgomery's army.

That was why Rommel had ordered his men to deploy and dug in his 88mm Flak guns in a U-shaped formation.They were dug in so deep, that the barrel looked only thirty to sixty centimeters over the ground level, because they had no wheelsand, stood very high on large pods and had a high profile. Then a low tent had been erected over the position of every gun and even with field glasses it was impossible to distinguish them from sand dunes. When the British would come their way, they would be taken in an ambush. Tom would almost have pitied them.

Almost.

But he did not owe them anything. What had they given him ? Not a thing. Who had cared, whenever he felt lonely ? Who had cared, whenever he wanted something, and could not have it, because he had not any money ? He was nothing to them, as they were nothing to him. That was how things worked.

Or was it ?

He shook his head, angry with himself for being so confused, and glared a the skyline, trying to think of something else. But as he did so, he noticed something else. Dust. A lot of dust. And it was coming straight towards them...

He grabbed Rommel's arm, but the german had already noticed the clouds. His face tense with concentration, he turned toward one of the two lieutenants, and gave him his orders with that commanding voice of his.

"Kassler, go and tell everyone to be ready. I want the Flak gun crews to fire only at point blank. There will be no signal, they shall trust their own judgement. When I give the order, the panzers will come out and finish them."

"Yes, _Herr Feldmarschal_", the man barked at once.

There was not enough room in the car for him to click his heels, but Tom almost heard him do so, and sniggered as the lieutenant left to convey his orders.

Less than twenty minutes later, the first British tanks entered the trap. Five minutes after that, hell broke lose. The trap sprang, and the Flak guns opened fire on the British, who certainly did not expect it and were taken totally off-guard. At first, they could not even see where the bullets came from, and then, how were they supposed to fire in the holes the germans hid into ?

Riddle squinted at the Feldmarschal. Queerly enough, Rommel did not look very happy, though his trap was working even better than expected. The British charge got crushed against the Flak guns, and the casualties on the german side so far were ludicrous.

The effect of surprise started to wear off, and the Feldmarschal gave the order for his panzers to come out. That was the finishing blow. Puzzled, laminated, the British finally surrendered. The germans took their weapons and gathered the prisonners, who were to be sent to one of the Africans prisonners of war camp.

Prompted by curiosity, Tom approached the bunch of British prisonners, and watched their faces filled with hopelessness. Muggles. They were despicable, altogether. He saw fear, cowardness. He also saw the officers who were trying to cheer up their men, tending to their wounded, but their courage made him only hate them all the more. He hated a lot of people. That was often painful, but that was also what had allowed him to hold all that time in Hogwarts, especially the first years. Later, the other students had learnt to respect him, but only out of fear. Most people understood nothing but fear.

"Hey Riddle ! I can't believe it ! What are you doing here ?"

Stunned, Tom turned his head in the direction of the shout. One of the prisonners, a corporal, was waving at him, a big smile on his face. The teen frowned ; that face did seem slightly familiar. A pasty face, with reddish brown hair, and dark brown eyes that made him look like a beaten puppy. And most of all, these large red ears, which made his head seem too small for his neck.

That was Wilkinson.

"If I ever thought I'd see you here ! When did they capture you ?"

"Fuck off, you filthy Tommy", Tom spat in german.

He saw the confused look on the corporal's face, and sighed inwardly. He had never been very brilliant, but he was reaching tops. And Tom's life was in the scales. Damn that idiot ! The teen approached him and slapped him, hard, with his fist.

"That is for speaking out of turn", he cried out in english with a lurid german accent.

Some of the german soldiers who were guarding the prisonners laughed at that, and started to shout insults at the corporal. A British officer, seeing that, beckoned for Wilkinson to come with him, and he gave him a wounded to take care of. Good timing, Tom thought with relief, and he went back near Rommel, as far from the prisonners as possible.

He did not notice the glances Merhoff and Aldinger, who had witnessed the whole scene, cast him.

"What was that all about ?" Rommel asked him irritatedly when he reached him.

Fortunately, they were a little away from the other germans, and no one could hear what they were saying.

"One of the prisonners recognized me", Tom replied with a grimace. "The name's Wilkinson, he was a student at Hogwarts. We called him 'Jumbo', because of his ears."

"I don't care about his ears or whatever", the Feldmarschal hissed. "he endangered your cover. Now, I will have to get rid of these prisonners as quickly as possible. And I'll need to keep an eye on him too, if he is a wizard."

"Duh", Tom sniggered. "Not much of a wizard. He was almost a squib. Once, he transfigurated the teacher in a tomato, when he was asked to change a pumpkin in a whistle."

"I prefer that", the german wizard sighed, slackening slightly. "Still, I'd feel better if we could get his wand."

"Leave that to me, sir", Riddle replied.

Rommel considered the idea, then nodded.

"Fine. But for Merlin's sake, try to be discreet."

At that moment, Merhoff and Aldinger approached, and Tom left to sneak near the prisonners for the second time. Only this time, he cast a discretion charm on himself. People who looked in his direction would not notice him, unless he really tried to get their attention. Meanwhile, Merhoff reported enthusiastically to Rommel.

"Congratulations, sir", the major said excitedly. "That was a master stroke."

"What matters is that I get general Loewy and his men back", the german wizard answered. "But we still will have to deal with the remaining of Montgomery's fighting strength. That was merely the beginning."

"What shall we do now, sir ?" Aldinger queried.

"I need you to take care of the prisonners", Rommel ordered. "I will go and meet with Loewy's forces. Once you are done with the British, get back to Headquarters ; I'll meet you there within the next days."

The two officers exchanged a look of dismay. None of them cared for Ritter being out of their sight. But it was a direct order, and they had no much choice. Ha, too bad for them.

As they left, Tom came back, a sly smile spreading on his face.

"I have it", he murmured. "A simple _accio _spell made it."

"I arranged for the prisonners to be taken away as soon as possible", Rommel replied. "Fortunately, you seem to be under no suspicion for the moment. But don't approach British prisonners ever again."

"How was I to know a wizard would be among them !" Riddle protested.

"You could not. That is exactly why I tell you not to go near them."

"Oh", Tom said sheepishly.

He had to admit it was logical. Lieutenant Kassler, who was bringing a wireless radio, saved him the embarrassement to say anything else.

"Sir, that is general Loewy. He wants to know what is going on, and if you need assistance."

"Thanks", Rommel nodded.

Kassler dropped the radio on the ground, and the Feldmarschal grabbed the earphones.

"This is Rommel speaking", he said.

"_Herr Feldmarschal _!" Loewy's surprise was audible, even through the interferences. "one of my scout cars reported a battle is happening, are you under attack ?"

"No", the wizard replied in an amused tone, "I believe the British were, but they surrendered."

For a few seconds, there was no answer but a stunned silence.

"Excuse me, _herr Feldmarschal_, I think I'm not reading you. correctly. What did you say ?"

"The British were under attack, and they surrendered", Rommel repeated patiently.

Tom chuckled without being able to refrain himself. Said like that, it _did _seem unbelievable.

"Ah... well..." the general said, obviously strucked dumb. "That's... that's good news..."

His voice revealed a doubt as for the sanity of his commanding officer, but he was well too disciplined to say so. Tom choked with laughter, as he had used the _audire _spell to hear what the general told Rommel, but that awarded him some weird looks from a few other germans, who did not understand why he was laughing.

"I would like you to rendezvous with us, twenty kilometers south of Tobrouk. Montgomery's forces are too important for us to take back the city right now ; it would be suicide, we will need to regroup before launching any kind of offensive of that scale."

"Un... understood, sir. But..."

"What ?" Rommel asked impatiently.

"Nothing, sir", Loewy sighed after a short silence. "I am leaving at once."

Rommel put back the airphones, a ghostly smile hovering on his lips. He knew the general probably believed he was insane, but he did not care. The man would see for himself the reality of his victory over the British.

"So, what happens, now ?" Tom asked.

"We wait for general Adler Loewy and his men. Once they are here, we get back to Headquarters."

"Okay. I think you already earned your wages for this month, anyway", Tom chuckled.

About twenty kilometers away, not far from Tobrouk, general Loewy glared at his wireless radio, as if it were responsible for the situation. Colonel Feldkamp, his second in command, cast him a scrutinizing look.

"Is there something wrong, sir ?" he asked.

Loewy shook his head in disbelief.

"The Feldmarschal says he attacked the British and they surrendered, and our orders are to catch up with him. But it is impossible. I know he did not have enough fighting strength to defeat Montgomery's third and fifth divisions, that stood between Tobrouk and Bir-Hakeim. I saw the maps. Desert Fox or not, that is _impossible _!"

Feldkamp knew better than to comment on that.

"Shall I tell the men to be ready to go ?"

"Hell, yes. That's suicide, but he gave us a direct order."

Loewy watched his second-in-command's back as the colonel walked away to carry on his orders. He shook his head once again, muttering for himself.

"He has gone sheer crazy... or he is a genius."


	12. He Was Not Even Here

**A/N : **No, I won't write any disclaimer this time. I'm tired of repeating they don't belong to me, it depresses me.

* * *

_December 1943 - January 1944 - Bir-Hakeim_

Finally, maybe one could get used to this country, Tom thought as he lay down on his bed. The day had been rather nice, and felt almost like holidays. He had had little to do, as Rommel had left in the morning for an inspection of his defenses in the south, and would not be back until the next morning.

After they had met general Loewy, who had been bewildered - and slightly ashamed - when he had seen that the Feldmarschal had not lied to him and had indeed vanquished the Allied troups, they had come back to Headquarters. But such a challenge would certainly make Montgomery strike back, and the germans had better be ready.

He looked at the window ; the night had already fallen, and everything inside was silent - everyone seemed to be asleep. Today, that was New Year's Eve, his birthday. He was eighteen, and he felt all at once young yet so much older than most eighteen-years-old boys. He was more or less a spy, though he had not yet had any occasion to give a report to the minister. He was pretending to be a german in a building full of soldiers who would shoot him on sight if they ever learnt who he was. He should have been afraid. Maybe he was stupid, to have even volunteered in the first place. Yet, oddly enough, he was glad he was here. He could do things, there, that would maybe change the course of the war. He had what he craved for ; power.

He had too much on his head to even think of sleeping. Shrugging, he grabbed a book he had borrowed to Rommel. Well, the Feldmarschal did not know he had lent it, but what he didn't know could not hurt him. It was a book from Alexandre Dumas, that Riddle had found between a copy of Sun Tzu's _art of war _and Xenophon's anthology, and that he would not have expected to find there. Of course, Rommel could not afford to keep books where magic was mentioned when anyone could find them. All because of these bloody muggles.

Suddenly, Tom stiffened. He had heard some noise outside, some sort of clatter taht had sounded out of place. With a frown, he rose from his bed and went to glance through the window at the garden. It was dark and quiet, the trees stood and cast their shadows on the ground, the scenery was lit only by the moolight. Baaah, probably the wind. Tom cursed himself for being so paranoiac.

He was heading back to bed when he heard once again a noise ; but this time, it seemed to come from the inside of the house. Well, certainly someone was a little hungry and wanted to make himself a snack. That was the most blatant explanation.

But he still felt uneasy. Suddenly, the atmosphere was heavy, sweltering, and Tom could just not even imagine going back to bed to read that stupid muggle book.

He bit his lower lip. He did not like giving way to these childish fears, yet... oh, well, he couldn't sleep anyway. Finally taking his decision, he took his wand and tucked it in his pocket, which was the easiest way to hide it from muggles. He had only his pants on, because it was so hot even at night, and furthermore his sunburn, though almost healed, was still itchy, and having some fabric rubbing on his back was just insufferable. He did not even put his slippers on, his bare feet would make less noise and he would be less likely to slip on the polished floor.

He opened the door of his room, not even bothering to take a candle. If there was someone, the light would be too conspicuous. He felt the cold wood under his feet, and noiselessly slid in the corridor, before heading toward the stairs. Everything seemed fine, and he could not hear anything weird anymore. Well, he would go down the stairs to indulge his paranoiac tendencies, and then he would go back to bed and read some more.

But he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw a shadow move. No, that had to be a curtain move by the wind.

But the windows were closed.

His heart pounding in his chest, Tom sticked to the wall as if he wanted to melt inside it. But he needed only a second to steady himself. All right, there was someone in the house Rommel used as Headquarters, and that someone was hiding, which meant he was inevitably an ennemy. And if he was an ennemy, he would shoot him on sight.

He had three solutions, when he thought of it. Either he went back to bed, as if he had not heard anything, or he tried to neutralize the man himself, or he called for help. He immediately discarded the first option ; he was as likely to be killed as anyone else in this house. And shouting to warn everyone else was not a very good idea either, because then he'd be a likely target, and he wanted to live past his eighteenth birthday. A lot longer.

He drew his wand and aimed it at the shadow he still saw, ready to use it. When he saw another shadow catch up with the first. He should have think of it. They were obviously no vulgar thieves, so they certainly had a mission. And if that was the case, no one in his right mind would have sent only one man to carry out an assignment that involved the germans Headquarters in Libya.

And where were the sentries ? There was supposed to be several patrols all around the building, and sentries outside and inside, days and nights. Why had not anyone raised the alarm ?

Then Tom saw the tip of the boot that went out of a closet, and he did not need to be Merlin to know just who it was. Seemed like they were highly efficient ; they had taken care of the sentries without a single sound. But still, they were mere muggles, no match for Tom.

His wand still in hand, he muttered a Silencing charm, and a Discretion charm. That would not grant him total invisibility, if he started firing hexes and curses against them, but it would make him damn harder to shoot.

From the landing of the stairs, he had a good sight of the ground floor, but he had to act quickly, because in no time they would come his way. Eyes wide with excitation, he aimed at the closest shadow.

"Stupefy !" he hissed.

A red ray went out of the tip of his wand and hit the shadow in the chest. Propelled backwards, the man shoved the occasional table that stood behind him, and they both crashed on the ground in a deafening noise. But the other shadows, understanding that they had been discovered, stopped caring for the noise - besides, everybody had probably already been awaken - and one of them cast a grenade in the approximative direction the shot had come from - in other words, in Tom's direction.

"Yack !" the teen yelped when he saw the explosive device.

He could not think of any charm that could neutralize it, had not any time to try to remember one, so he just jumped forward and tumbled down the stairs. His Discretion and Silencing charms could not hold with that much gesticulations, and he was a blatant target, even in the dark.

Fortunately, the noise had awaken everyone, and half naked german officers started to come out of their rooms, lügers in hands. In the confusion, Tom crawled downstairs and managed to find a dark spot in which he could lurk. From that safe place, he watched the fight between the germans and the intruders. Two more grenades flew, and shouts of pain in both german and english could be heard. So, these men were Allies, probably Americans or British.

Well, that made sense. Rommel may be an ennemy of Grindelwald, but he was still a danger for the Allies, and it was only logical they would try to stop him by any means necessary.

There had been more of them than Riddle had originally thought, and he shuddered slightly. Had he known they were so numerous, he might have tried to rouse the germans rather than fight them himself. Well, too late, and besides he came unscathed out of the skirmish. The two or three commandos that had not been killed or wounded by the germans fled outside, followed by several german soldiers. Tom discreetly cast an enervatum, for he did not want the germans to wonder why he would not wake up, on the one he had stupefied, who woke up just in time to be taken prisonner.

Some light was put on, and general Loewy stood on the first step of the stairs.

"Please, gentlemen, calm down !" he called, and the noise settled down. "I want the prisonners taken in separate cells, they are to be interrogated later, but there will be at least three guards for each. Someone takes care of the corpses, too. Who raised the alarm ?"

Some silence answered him, as everyone exchanged an unknowing look. Tom hesitated, but after all that was the noise he had made that had warned them. He could take the credit. That would maybe make them prone to be a little less suspicious with him.

"I did", he said loudly.

All glances turned toward him, as he hoisted a satisfied smile on his lips.

"You did ?" the general slowly repeated. "How did you discover them ?"

"I could not sleep", the teen shrugged, "and I heard a noise, so I went to check what it was."

"Very well", Loewy said abruptly. "I shall see to it that the Feldmarschal is acquainted with these facts, once he comes back."

At that point, the german soldiers who had been chasing the fugitives came back, with a corpse and a prisonner. Loewy cast a harsh gaze at the prisonner, who seemed to be wounded, but the Allied soldier ignored him, and sent a desperate glance at Tom, who was the nearest.

"Please, tell me... did we get him ?" he uttered in a hoarse whisper.

Riddle did not need to ask who was "he", and he ruthlessly smirked. He did not care much for that muggle, and even took some delight in the man's forlorn look. That made him feel powerful. Anyway, he did not matter anymore than his despicable father, of whom he disliked till his name.

"Are you joking ?" he laughed. "He was not even here."

The commando opened his mouth in disbelief, as the germans laughed at him too, and when he saw his friends' bodies, he closed his eyes desperately. Then, general Loewy motioned for him to be taken away, and he did not try to fight when the germans brought him away. He seemed almost... broken. Too bad for him, Tom thought, and he forgot the man as soon as he was out of his eyesight.

"Gentlemen, now is the time to go back to bed, I believe", Loewy said firmly. "I will have security doubled ; this will not happen again."

That may be so, but Tom still cast a warning charm on his door when he went back to bed. One could never be too careful, obviously. Yet, he slept soundly for the remaining of the night and in the middle of the morning.

He woke up, warned by the charm he had cast on the door, when someone entered his room. Before even thinking, he had his wand at the ready and aimed at the short blond man who stared at him with a smirk. He heaved a sigh of relief when he recognized the intruder.

"Good Merlin, never do that again !" he groaned, as he sat back on the bed.

"Oh, so sorry", Rommel replied mockingly. "But from what I heard when I arrived, this morning, you are right to be careful. I really have to do something about security."

"Well, I seriously doubt the Allies will try again anytime soon, if that reassures you."

"Except if they knew we'd believe that, of course", the Feldmarschal snorted. "But four of my staff officers were wounded, and one killed", he then added with deadly seriousness. "I can't, and won't, allow something like that to ever happen again."

"Now, you're warned", Tom shrugged.

"Thanks to you", Rommel pointed out. "You did not have to do that. You should not have to fight against your fellow countrymen, even if it is to better face Grindelwald."

"I volunteered", Riddle reminded him pointedly. "And I do not have the same conception of patriotism as yours, so just stop trying to feel guilty for the both of us."

The german wizard cast him an amazed look, but did not insist. Instead, he cleared his thorat and carried on.

"Yet, I am grateful. You saved the lives of my officers", he said, thoughtfully gazing at the window. "By the way, I believe it was your birthday, yesterday", he added off-handedly.

Dumbfounded by the change of subject, Tom blinked.

"How do you know that ?" he queried, more agressively than he wanted to sound.

"Dumbledore told me", the german replied, shrugging. "Anyway, I guess you earned a birthday present, last night."

He tossed him a small square box, and Tom's reflexes made him catch it. He impatiently opened it, and stared at the object inside, astounded.

It was an Iron Cross.

_December 1943 - January 1944 - South of Libya_

Major Merhoff wiped the sweat off his face, heaving a sigh of relief as the prisonners entered the prisonners of war camp he had taken them to. Setting these camps as far as possible from the front was only logical, for that would make an escape quite more difficult, but he did not have to like these baby-sitter duties.

As the last prisonners entered the camp, he nudged his friend Aldinger, and they both made a move toward them.

"You !" he called in english to an Allied corporal, easily recognizable from his large ears that made his head seem too small for his neck. "Come here !"

The man looked all around, as if he expected someone else to be called, but he finally understood he was the one supposed to come, and he approached the two germans officers, shuffling his feet. Merhoff tried to hide his contempt at that sight. He had observed the man during their walk, and just how he had become anything more than a mere private was still a wonder.

"Your name, corporal", he asked when the man finally reached him and Aldinger.

"Wilkinson, sir", he answered nervously. "serial number 58772..."

"I don't care about your serial number", Merhoff snarled, hoping the petty officer wouldn't stick to the "name, rank and serial number" policy. He _really _wasn't in the mood for that.

"Oh", Wilkinson just said, and kept quiet.

"I want to talk to you about that young man you were talking to, when we were in camp", the major resumed. "The one with black hair and green eyes."

"Oh, you mean, Riddle ?"

Merhoff frowned when he heard the name. He could not be sure, with that horrid accent the corporal had. The two names sounded more or less alike, but still...

"Ritter, you said ?" he asked, to be sure.

"Riddle, Ritter, whatever the way you pronounce it", Wilkinson shrugged. "Whaddya wanna know about him ?"

"Tell me everything you know about him", the german major ordered.

"Ah, well, I met him in... but you are sure that's all right with regulations ? I wouldn't want to be punished for talking too much, it happens to me all the time", the corporal said doubtfully.

"Wouldn't have guessed", Aldinger sneered.

"Of course it is all right with regulations" Merhoff asserted. "Now, speak."

"Well, if you're sure... but after all, he seemed to be on your side, so I s'pose 'tis all right if I tell you 'bout him. Or at least, I think it's him, but he didn't seem to recognize me, so maybe he's just a look alike..."

At that point, Wilkinson saw the two german officer's darkening look, and clearing his throat, hastily carried on.

"The name's Tom Riddle, I met him at school, in Scotland. He was not a very nice or very talkative fellow... always lurkin' in shadows, and doing his stuff, without anyone knowing what it was... but very clever, yeah. Allways first in everything. 'Twas the first time I ever saw him since I left school."

"I see", the major said, slightly disappointed.

He had not really learnt anything. He had suspicions, but no evidence of any kind. In the end, this Ritter fellow could be a gestapo officer who happened to look like a British, but he could also be a British traitor, or even a British spy. And Merhoff had absolutely no way to be sure.

"Fine", he finally said. "You may go into the camp, now."

As Wilkinson left, he shared a disappointed look with Aldinger. For now, they could do little but go back to Headquarters as ordered, and keep a watchful eye on this Ritter boy.

Ending note : This assassination attempt against Rommel really did take place, and after they were thwarted, the commandos (or at least the few survivors) discovered that they had missed their target, for Rommel was not even there but at a staff meeting. The dates might not be the same, but I thought it'd be interesting to use that anecdote.

About the Iron Cross, here is a description I found on the web :

_"The __**German Iron Cross**__ in its various grades was awarded to all ranks of the Wehrmacht, Luftwaffe and Kriegsmarine to recognize officers and men for acts of bravery, heroism and leadership. It was first introduced on March 10, 1813 by King Frederick William III of Prussia, who was then at war against the French under Napolean. Since then it has gone through many evolutions and was reinstitued again by Adolf Hitler on 1st September 1939, in readiness for the Second World War."_

Among the various grades of the Iron Cross, the second highest was the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves, Swords and Diamonds. _"Awarded only to the most highly decorated and heroic figures of the armed forces, only 27 servicemen had receive this award, one of which was General Field Marshall Erwin Rommel."_


	13. Fight To The Last

**A/N **: What ? Disclaimer ? Nope, I'm not gonna write the disclaimer, 'cause it is the cursed chapter, and I could accidentally write that something belongs to me when nothing's mine...

* * *

_March 1944 - near the border of Libya - Bunker (temporary Headquarters)_

Tom stretched, yawning. There was little to do, as there had been lately, and he was starting to feel a little bored. For now three months, the Allies had launched ceaseless attacks against the german front of Libya, and Rommel had stayed in various bunkers to organize a defense line. Until now, none of the two armies had yielded any ground, and it was turning from a biltzkrieg to a war of positions.

The teen rose from his camp bed, and sleepily eyed the other occupants of the bunker. Some high-ranking officers were quietly talking all around a map, some others were taking a nap - just like Tom had - and the others were either busy with the wireless radio or out of sight. There was no trace of the Feldmarschal. He was probably out at the front. Once again. Tom had an amused smile ; the man was driving his officers crazy, and led everyone at an exhausting pace.

At that same moment, major Merhoff entered the room, and watched all around as if looking for someone. Obviously not finding him, he approached captain Aldinger.

"Do you know where is the Feldmarschal ?" he enquired in a low voice.

"Last time I saw him, it was six hours ago", the captain replied absent-mindedly. "He must be out at the front."

"Again", Merhoff growled. "Frankly, Aldinger, the men may like it, but I'd rather have a commander in chief a little more fearful. Just enough to drop by at his headquarters every once in a while."

The other man shrugged helplessly.

"I'll go fetch him, if you..."

He didn't have the time to finish his sentence, as some hurly-burly was audible at the entrance of the bunker, and seconds later Rommel strode in, followed by a handful of men, all speaking at the same time. With all that people inside, the bunker seemed suddenly a bit crowded.

"That's quite all right, gentlemen, you mlay return to the front", the Feldmarschal ordered. "That's nothing serious."

"You are sure, sir ?" a lieutenant cast him a guilty glance.

"Yes", Rommel asserted in a tone that showed his patience was wearing thin.

They left the bunker, and order was quickly restored. Merhoff stepped forward, his eyes scrutinizing.

"If I may, sir, what happened ?"

The Feldmarschal did not answer at once, but approached the table and sat on one of the chairs, before studying the map displayed on the table. Finally, he showed Merhoff a dot on the dark line standing for the front.

"I was there, half an hour ago. A new attack from the Allies crushed our positions ; they have fuel, supplies... everything we need so badly."

He stopped his explanation to cough, drawing worried glances from his men. It was no secret his doctor had strongly advised him to leave the front and return to Germany to be treated, though no one knew exactly what his illness was but himself and his doctor. Yet he stubbornly stayed, and no one had been able to convince him otherwise. Berlin was probably not even aware of his medical situation.

"Anyway", he pursued once the fit ended, "it might mean we will have to fall back further, if they keep attacking at this rate."

All the german officers present shared dark glances. They knew their situation was not very good, and morale was not at its highest. Merhoff squinted at his commander in chief. Rommel looked tired, his uniform was dusty and torne in places - probably because of his last stay at the front. And... was that blood ?

"Sir ?" the major turned pale. "Are you wounded ?"

"What ?" the Feldmarschal followed his gaze. "Ah, barely a scratch. Most of this blood isn't mine, anyway."

"Please, let at least the doctor have a look at it", Merhoff insisted. "We'll prepare for a possible retreat meanwhile."

"Yes, yes, no hurry. Try to make contact with all of my field commanders" Rommel waved him off and disappeared in his "room", only separated from the main room of the bunker by a heavy dark curtain. While one of the officers went out to fetch a doctor, Tom followed the german wizard, unaware of Merhoff and Aldinger's dark gaze set on him.

"Is it bad ?" he asked quietly while entering the Feldmarschal's quarters.

"Well, quite", he admitted while unbuckling his belt and taking off his uniform jacket. "I can use tricks, but it won't replace supplies, fuel, or men."

"I meant your wound."

"Oh", Rommel said, looking slightly surprised. "No, it's all right, but in Africa it can become infected pretty fast, so even shallow wounds may be dangerous."

"So, what are you going to do ?" Tom queried.

"Disinfect it with some antiseptic, and..."

"I meant, about the Allied attacks", the teen cut him.

"There is not much to do", the german shrugged. "Until Berlin answers my calls, at least. If they don't, I might try to talk with the Italians, who are even closer, but I'd rather not."

"Why ?" Tom curiously asked.

"Because it is not my place to ask reinforcements from our allies, and if I do so Grindelwald will probably be mad at me", the Feldmarschal said in a low-voice, for he didn't want to be overheard by his men in the bunker. "And if it happens, I won't be much help for the... project we have been working on. He must not doubt my loyalty - for now. Besides, it would put my family in danger."

"You could arrange for them to be sent in Great-Britain..."

"It could never be kept a secret !" Rommel replied angrily. "I have a duty toward my country, as I have a duty toward my family. I won't choose between them, for it would not be a choice I could make. So, I will try to keep them safe, _and _to overthrow Grindelwald."

The teen raised a doubtful eyebrow as he sat on the corner of the Feldmarschal's campbed, toying absent-mindedly with his wand, which he had reduced to the size of a pencil. It even looked like one, which allowed him to keep it in his hand when the doctor finally pop up in the curtained room.

It was a man tall and lean, with brown greying hair and a beginning of baldness which made his forehead look larger than it actually was. His dark eyes, deeply sunken in his orbit, were vivid and clever. He had the talent to see what other men didn't, to watch further than mere appearances, and not to let himself be deceived by illusions. In other words, he was a muggle, but he still had a special connection to everything that was magic. Maybe he felt it in Rommel and Tom, but if it was the case, he had never said so. Yet, they both were persuaded he knew more than he let show.

He straightened his uniform, on which the insignias of a lieutenant-colonel could be seen, and saluted the Feldmarschal smartly.

"Lieutenant-colonel Horster reporting, sir. I was told you have been injured ?" he asked briefly.

"Right", the german wizard nodded, as if he had already forgotten about it. "Tom, if you will wait outside..."

"Sure", the teen shrugged and left.

Rommel finished to undress and stood in front of his doctor, stripped to the waist, his wound now clearly visible. It was a gash that crossed his ribs, not very deep but profusely bleeding. Horster carefully proded the slash, and the Feldmarschal winced slightly when the colonel pushed a little too harshly. Finally, his inspection finished, the doctor straightened up and took some bandage in his bag, as well as some disinfectant.

"That's gonna hurt a little", he warned.

He couldn't help but think Rommel deserved the pain for his tendencies to go to the front almost everyday, against his advices, and so he pitilessly applied the antiseptic on the wound, before bandaging it, ignoring the Feldmarschal's groan of pain. The whole thing didn't take more than a few minutes. Once he was done, Horster started stowing his medical equipment, as Rommel got dressed. He squinted at his superior, and then started speaking casually.

"How do you feel, sir ?"

A shrug.

"Not too bad, if what you told me last time is true."

"It will get worse", Horster quietly warned.

"Yes, probably", Rommel nodded.

"Then why won't you leave ?" the doctor frustratingly enquired.

"I just can't leave now. Don't you see what situation we are in ? If I was to go back to Berlin, I would have no choice but remain there for weeks, maybe month. We just can't afford that for the moment."

"If you stay, you will eventually be too ill to do anything", Horster said, refraining himself just in time before adding things that could get him court-martialled.

"I have still some time left", the Feldmarschal said, before coughing. He adressed his doctor a sickly smile. "Or maybe not so much. I don't enjoy doing that, you know. I wish I could just go back and not have to suffer at all. But I guess we just can't always do what we want."

He put on again his cap, and grabbed the baton that was a symbol of his rank. He paused just before leaving the room.

"Don't worry", he added. "You disapproval has been put on record. You will not be blamed, whatever happens."

With that he lifted the heavy curtains and strode out of the room. Horster watched him go to his officers, asking for a report, and shook his head angrily.

"That's not what worries me most", he muttered, before going back to his duties. Many men still needed him, and he knew more were to come.

"No news from Kesselring ? And from the Luftwaffe ?" Rommel enquired.

"None", Aldinger replied ruefully. "We are currently making contact with Berlin, though. We are expecting an answer in... ah, here it comes, I believe."

Tom approached, as the captain went to work with the wireless radio, and started putting down the words as they came through. Muttering under his breath, he wrote about two sentences, before putting back the headset and handing the slip of paper to his commander in chief. Rommel read quickly Berlin's orders, and as he did so his eyes widened in disbelief.

"What is this... ?" he growled angrily. "Aldinger, ask for confirmation !"

"Yes sir", the captain nodded nervously, and started operating the radio once again.

The confirmation arrived only minutes later, and he handed the Feldmarschal the second reply from Berlin. Rommel read, and breathed-in sharply.

"This... is... utter nonsense !" he hissed.

His officers shared a worried glance, but none of them dared ask what was going on. They uncomfortably looked around, shifting from one feet to another. Tension slightly rose in the bunker, more than it had ever happened. Finally, Tom cleared his throat, loudly. Rommel raised his head, and gave the paper to Merhoff, who turned pale when he read it, before giving it to the nearest officer so he could read to. As the paper was turning around, the Feldmarschal started pacing.

"No supplies can be sent", he quoted the message. "But you have to hold your position. Fight to the last for honor and for the Fatherland. Fight to the last ! It's archaic ! Medieval ! Who is he to condemn every single man here to a meaningless death !"

Never before had Rommel spoken so openly in front of his men, and that in itself showed the extent of his wrath. His eyes were flashing with rage, and his pale features were tense with anger. Merhoff stepped forward.

"What shall we do, then ?" the major asked. "Sir, you are here, he isn't. It is your decision to take."

There was no need to ask who was "he". In spite of his anger, the Feldmarschal hesitated. He had certainly not expected such words from the faithful officer which stood in front of him.

"It is a direct order, from the highest authority in the Reich !" he replied frustratingly.

As much as he despised Grindelwald for was he was doing to Germany, he still had to seem loyal, and besides he was always uncomfortable when it came to disregard a legal authority. He knew he had to overthrow the insane wizard that had called himself the Führer ; but it did not make treason easier.

"It an insane order. Sir, the Führer is not here, and maybe he has been influenced, or maybe he is not aware of the seriousness of our situation. But you are, and it is your orders the men will follow", Merhoof said as persuasively as he could.

"Influenced. I would not be surprised, with these minions of his", Rommel snarled. "Himmler, Goering... never saw them on the Russian front."

Eventually, he straightened himself, and gazed at his officers. These brave and faithful men who had followed him with whatever crazy trick he invented, who stood in front of an army twice as big as theirs, not without fear, for only a fool would not be afraid, but without cowardice. And he knew he could never sentence them to death, no matter what.

"Berlin can send as many orders as they want", he finally said in a loud and determined voice. "We will withdraw, and fall back till Paris if need be. I want everyone ready to leave this bunker, because I don't think we will be able to hold this position much longer."

He tore up the paper on which had been written his last orders, and waited for the protests, but none came. Riddle, back on the wall, seemed unconcerned. The officers present merely nodded, and when he dismissed them they went back to their duty at once. With a sigh, Rommel sat down. He knew he had made the right decision. He also knew he felt like a traitor.

"Major", he said to Merhoff, "how long till everything is ready ?"

"Less than an hour, sir", the major replied.

"Good."

He showed him the map.

"See, we are here. Now, the closest fortifications are..."

He did not have the time to finish his sentence. A sudden explosion shook the bunker to its foundations, and everything went dark.

Ending note : Rommel was really ill, in Africa, and had to go back to Germany twice because of that. In September 1942, he took a sick leave in Italy and Germany but immediately returned when news of the battle became known (On the night of 23rd October 1942, the allied armies launched an attack in Africa) But Rommel could only delay the inevitable. Ultra was a major factor that led to the defeat of his forces. He left Africa after falling ill, and the men of his former command eventually became prisonners of war at the Axis capitulation in Tunisia on 12 May 1943.

Also, the Führer did really send this insane order, to fight to the last, and Rommel really refused to obey it. The germans were outnumbered, as shows this quote I found on the web :

_"The Africa Korps was placed in Africa more as a friendly gesture towards an axis partner rather than as a real threat to the British and their allies. The German forces in Africa initially consisted of two tank divisions and later were increased by another two divisions in 1942. After this increase, "the German tank divisions together with the Italian tank divisions counted 496 tanks of which about 60 were Italian made and unsuitable for desert conditions. The British had a force of 1029 tanks"(Woloszanski 140). "Although not as excellent as the German PzKpfw IIIs and IVs, the British Matilda, Valentine, and Crusader were of better quality than the Italian tanks"(Woloszanski 122). The advantage the Germans had, though, was an excellent commander."_

I'm not aware of any injury Rommel sustained in Africa beside his illness, but as I know he was often out at the front, I don't think he could have done that and never been wounded.

And remember ; reviewed stories are happy stories.


	14. Who Has A Grenade At Hand ?

**A/N :** I did forget the disclaimer this time. Only realised it when I read my chapter over once again. It's not like this thing changes much from chapter to chapter. Not mine. All History or Rowling's. Duh.

* * *

A total confusion reigned in the now dark bunker. Tom was knocked about several times by people he couldn't even see (which meant he couldn't get his revenge later), and there was such a noise with people shouting and running in every directions that he couldn't even try to locate Rommel or someone else from the sound of their voices. Besides, his ears were still ringing with the sound of the explosion, and he could only be grateful the roof had withstood. He nervously fiddled with his wand while trying to get out of the way ; he felt helpless, lost in the dark like that, and he didn't like it one bit. Worse, he knew he _could _have made some light with a good old _lumos _spell, but he couldn't allow himself to do it in front of so many muggles ; a mere _obliviate _spell would not suffice to erase that memory from all of them. Merlin, he _hated _working with muggles !

"Calm down !" a well-known voice called out, and little by little, some quietness was brought back in the bunker.

Suddenly, a scratch could be heard, and the flickering flame of a lighter cast some light in the room. It was an instant relief for everyone, for real and deep darkness was generally unsettling. People were not used to not even having the light of the moon and stars.

The flame lit up Rommel's pale features, as he stood near Aldinger, who was holding the lighter. Inspired by his example, some other officers suddenly remembered they too had lighters, and more light came back to the bunker. Seconds later, Rommel managed to find a torch, and he went to look around to try to understand just what had happened. Unfortunately, it didn't take him a long time to find the answer ; a single shell seemed to have hit the bunker's entrance, and partially destroyed it. In other words, the whole German staff plus a British spy were now blocked underground, barely twenty kilometers away from the Allied lines. That was no good news, Tom mused thoughtfully. Once more, he cursed the muggles ; it would have been so easy for him and Rommel to break through the wreckage, had they been alone !

These thoughts did not help, though. As they could not use magic, there was only one way remaining ; the hard one.

"Would someone happen to know where the shovels were stored ?" Tom asked sarcastingly.

"Yes", Merhoff replied, glowering at him. "In a storage space, which you can only enter from outside the bunker."

"So clever of you", the teen couldn't help but mock.

"I did not see _you _take care of it either", the major replied scathingly.

"Enough !" the Feldmarschal cut them sharply. "When one doesn't have shovels, one uses his brain. Now, who has a grenade at hand ?"

Several officers stepped forward at once, explosives in hand. Tom felt his hair raise on his neck ; he hated these muggle devices. They were hazardous, impossible to control, imprecise. Just like everything they invented to replace magic. He cleared his throat rather loudly.

"Hem, just for the record, you _do _know that you could make the whole bunker collapse, don't you ?" he asked Rommel, who looked daggers at him for saying it out loud, for he'd rather the other people inside would not think of it.

"Would you happen to have a better idea ?" the German wizard retorted dryly.

"No, but I don't think I could come up with a _worse _idea either", the teen answered back anxiously.

Rommel shrugged, obviously not caring much, and explosives in hand, he walked toward the former entrance of the bunker.

"Everybody moves back as far as possible", he ordered sharply.

He did not have to say it twice ; every and each of the present people recoiled at once, Tom included ; he did not care much for getting hurt by a splinter or something. Ironically enough, he found himself stuck between Aldinger and Merhoff, but they were fortunately too busy watching the whole operation to even notice his presence.

After pulling out the linchpin, Rommel backed away hastily, and found a shelter behind a broken table. Only Tom saw him discreetly flick his wand toward the grenade, casting a protective spell, and only because he expected him to do so. But in the dark, its black wood made the Feldmarschal's wand almost invisible. A little more confident, the teen held his ears in anticipation of the crack to come.

Seconds later, it resounded, and debris flew in the air, pushed by the potency of the explosion. Most officers had tried to dodge them out of reflexes, but thanks to the shielding spell, however, no one was hurt, and even better, the bunker did not collapse, which would probably have killed everyone, shielding spell or not.

A whiff of fresh air swept in the bunker, to everyone's relief. Dust clouded the entrance, but it proved that it had worked, and there was now a way out. Soon, the dust subsided, and Merhoff carefully stepped forward, his Lüger in hand. If a shell had hit the bunker, it might mean more Allied "surprises" were on their way. Being a little cautious would not hurt.

Aldinger followed, then Tom and Rommel, who, in spite of his usual recklessness, was wise enough not to insist going first. They got on slowly, ready to face Allied soldiers at any moment. They were followed by the other officers.

It wasn't long before they reached the outside of the bunker, but as Aldinger went in plain sight, the sound of detonation and the hiss of a bullet grazing him made him jump backwards hastily. Obviously, some Allies had managed to go through the German lines. The Germans exchanged a dark glance ; they did not know how many Allied soldiers they were to face, and therefore it would be difficult to set a strategy. Tom scowled. Each time, their situation seemed to get worse, and each time, he felt powerless as he could not use magic in front of muggles. Bloody muggles.

"Another grenade", Rommel ordered in a whisper.

The order was sent on to the rearguard, and seconds later another grenade was handed to the Feldmarschal, who took it appreciatively.

"Someone has an idea of the approximative direction ?" he queried.

Aldinger nodded. Well, he would be the one to know. He pointed at the assumed origin of the shot that had almost killed him. Tom frowned ; not only the sniper may have changed position, but also they had no idea just how far he was. If he had buried himself in the sand, he would be almost invisible, and even more so since the night was quite dark. The teen glanced at the German officers, who all had their eyes on Rommel. Now was his chance.

Drawing his wand, he kept it mostly hidden in his sleeve, and receding a few steps, he discreetly aimed it at the outside of the bunker entrance. He muttered a few words, and cast a discretion spell on himself so as to be sure not to be noticed by any muggle, then cast a Farsight spell. A smirk twisted his lips ; it worked ! But it was to be expected. Wasn't he one of the greatest wizards ever ?

Rommel was almost ready to throw his grenade, cursing inwardly for not being able to use magic, when he felt a nudge. It was Riddle. Fortunately, the other Germans had already backed off, so they could talk quietly.

"Three of them, about a hundred feet, this direction."

He pointed discreetly at the good direction, which was the same Aldinger had indicated only more precise, and the German wizard nodded.

"Good work. Are they close enough ?"

"Nah. You won't have all of them with only one grenade. I hope you're good with grenades, 'cause it won't be easy killing even one of them with one of these muggle imprecise weapons..."

"Be careful" Rommel hissed in anger.

"They can't hear us... I cast a Silencing charm."

"Then remove it", the Feldmarschal ordered.

Once Tom had complied, he turned toward his officers. He did not like risk his men's lives, and a frontal attack was not the most subtle approach, but time was against them and they had little choice in the matter.

"When I throw the grenade, be ready to attack", he said. "We'll take advantage of the following confusion. Understood ?"

Merhoff nodded, and Rommel knew he would pass on the order to everyone behind. He turned back and went back sneakingly to the one spot where he could fling the grenade without being shot. His blue eyes were cold when he drew the pin, counted until three and, in one powerful gesture, threw it. Mere seconds later, the explosion made sand fly, and all the occupiers of the bunker charged toward freedom.

The Allies were disoriented by the explosion, and momentarily blinded by the sand raised up by the blast, but they were also soldiers, and they started shooting at once. They had a bad aim, though, and the Germans were desperate, having no choice but getting rid of these three - or rather two, the last one having been already taken care of by Rommel's good fling - men. Bullets burst out in every directions, and shouts of pain could be heard. It was a real confusion, and Tom wisely stepped aside, having no wish of being killed like that. Especially by muggles.

Moments later, the shooting stopped, and some quiet was restored, to Tom's relief - no more stray bullets. The Germans, seeing that all threat seemed to have been eliminated, sheathed their Lügers, and regrouped. Two of them had been hurt, but none had been killed. The Allied, on the other hand... One of them was utterly dead, and the two others either dead or in such a bad shape that it didn't matter.

"Everyone's here ?" Rommel enquired. "Excellent. We'd better leave now, before the Allies pay us another social visit."

The vehicles were still there, on the other side of the bunker, and still well-preserved, to the relief of everyone. There was even enough place for everybody in the staff car and the supply trucks, and they did not lose any time getting in them and leaving in a hurry. Tom had climbed in the backseat of Rommel's car, and he was stuck between Aldinger and another officer he barely knew, a lieutenant Bauerstedt. Merhoff was beside the Feldmarschal, driving. It was a little strange for them to be all together in a car, but in spite of the dislike the teen and the German officers felt for each other, it was not the time to jump at each other's throat. So they just kept quiet, throwing worried glances all around for fear of seeing Allies suddenly surrounding them. The other vehicles, with all of Rommel's staff, followed behind, but not too closely.

However, their retreat went unevently. After a few kilometers, as they seemed to have really escaped any danger, Merhoff spoke, without tearing his eyes away from the road.

"Where shall we head, sir ?"

No answer came, and the major squinted at his superior, wondering if he was asleep. But, although the Feldmarschal had his eyes closed, the tension visible on his pale features showed he was fully awake, obviously thinking about it. Finally, he spoke quietly.

"We will go to Alam Halfa. It is about a hundred kilometers away from here. I should have taken the maps", he said in dismay.

"There is one in the glove compartment", Merhoff replied.

"I know. But not as precise", the German wizard groaned.

He still opened said glove compartment and took the folded paper, but he couldn't read it for lack of light. Bauerstedt managed to find a torch, and he held it above the Feldmarschal so he could study the map, and soon enough, with the help of the compass - a tool every car in the desert had, for otherwise getting lost was a certainty - he pointed at the direction they should follow.

The trip was silent for a moment. No one seemed in the mood to talk. But in a way, that proved to be better for them, for they were able to hear the planes quite early. All together, they turned their heads toward the sound, but in the night they saw little if anything. However, the sound of the engines grew stronger and stronger.

"They're getting closer", Tom said needlessly.

"I am not an expert, but from the sound I'd say that's Allied fighters", Bauerstedt murmured nervously.

"We can do nothing but hope they won't see us, or will be unable to determine whether we are on their side or not", Aldinger groaned.

"But we are not really near the front anymore", Bauerstedt pointed out. "They won't confuse us with Allies so far from their lines."

"Then pray", Aldinger snarled.

The fighters were just above the staff car and trucks, now, and they dived quite low. Tom could say they were probably no higher than two or three hundred meters. Even by night, in the desert, vehicles were easy to spot - especially when they moved - and he felt fear invade him, slowly, slinkingly. These muggle weapons had no shrewdness. They were gross, barbaric. Muggle.

A hiss tore the air, and Tom tried to swallow. He knew what that must be. A bomb, most probably. He had no problem imagining the splinters tearing through flesh and spreading blood, and when he heard the detonation, he couldn't help but wince, even though the bomb missed them from quite a distance.

"These Allied fighters don't even know how to aim", Bauerstedt jeered.

"Let's hope they don't improve", Tom groaned.

But already, the fighter, which had been moving away, was turning back toward them, intent or so it seemed to get rid of the Germans, though he couldn't possibly know how important his target was.

"Dodge !" Rommel needlessly ordered.

Merhoff was already turning the wheel, and behind them the trucks followed. But that was of no avail with a plane hovering above them, they could not duck efficiently enough. Another hiss tore the air, and this time Tom could almost see the bomb as it idly fell through the night, the dark metal shimmering with the star's faint light. It was almost poetic, ironically enough. It stopped to be, though, when Tom realised with dread and powerless despair that the bomb's trajectory was leading it straight to them. He wasn't the only one to yell when it finally exploded.


	15. We Are The Last Hindrance

**A/N** : Oh, yes. It was not mine in the last chapter. The odds it would have become mine between the last and this chapter are kinda low.

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_April 1944 - Alam Halfa, German Headquarters_

"That is sheer incompetence ! Irresponsibility is unacceptable for a soldier of your rank !"

The bellowing resounded through the thick wooden door, and Tom sneered. It was highly amusing to hear Rommel get really angry every once in a while. But the teen had to admit, he had good reasons to be ; a general of his had commandeered supplies because he feared he would not be able to maintain his positions ; this had led to the failure of an attack ordered by the Feldmarschal, and the death of about fifty men.

Tom idly stretched, but winced when he felt a stab of pain in his back. That bloody Allied plane had only narrowly missed his shot, and the blow of the explosion had been powerful enough to push over Rommel's staff car. All the passengers had been ejected, and it had resulted in various - though fortunately minor - injuries. The most serious had been Aldinger's broken arm, but Tom's back was still stiff and sore, and Rommel had a nice bruise on his face. In spite of their being wizards, none of them was really good with healing charms, and trying one might just do more ill than good. So they just had to live with it. Besides, they should not complain ; apart from that, their trip to Alam Halfa had been uneventful, though the German lines were in a bad shape. They had been continually retreating for the past five days.

The door opened, putting an end to Tom's musings, and general Von Arnim went out, still flushing out of anger, irate as he was to have been reprimanded like that, even though it had been in private - Rommel was much too respectful of military procedures to do otherwise... or he would have to be really, _really _very angry. But there was nothing Von Arnim could say ; Rommel was the commander in chief for all Axis forces in Africa, and therefore the general was under his orders. Besides, he was the one who had been wrong, and as proud and conceited as Von Arnim might be, he was still clever enough to realize that. Otherwise, he could not have made it to the rank of general, connections or not.

Von Arnim strode past Tom without sparing him even one glance, as he considered him Rommel's lapdog - he could not know just how mistaken he was - and rushed down the stairs. Tom waited until the tall frame of the man had completely disappeared, and then turned away to head to Rommel's office. He found the Feldmarschal gazing through the window at the desert, thoughtful, and probably in a bad mood though he didn't let his face betray any of his anger.

"So", the teen said cheekily, "I take it you are in a predicament. If I can trust Von Arnim's face color, that is."

"You can say that once again", Rommel groaned. "We lack everything. Fuel, supplies... the only thing we've got more or less plenty of is ammunition, fortunately."

"What about Berlin ? Did you ask them for supplies ?"

"The communications have been cut since we left the bunker, because of Allied strikes", the German wizard replied fretfully.

Though, when he came to think of it, it was rather a good thing that they could not contact Berlin, Rommel mused. That way, Grindelwald couldn't release him from his duties for disobeying a direct order, as he had not stood his positions or asked his men to "fight to the last". The Führer would probably be angry - very angry - when he would learn of his disobedience. Rommel hoped he could explain him in person - the man could almost be reasonable when one knew how to talk to him. As reasonable as his twisted mind would allow, anyway.

"Then, what will happen ?" Tom enquired, trying not to let his anxiety show.

"For now, nothing. But we are to expect an attack on Alam Halfa very soon. Actually, I'm going to have a look at our defenses - mine fields and such - right now. You should stay here meanwhile", Rommel replied, shrugging.

"Yeah, I'll do that", Tom said in a bored tone.

He watched the Feldmarschal leave his office, then lazily went out of the room. He had nothing to do, no duties, and he had quickly finished to read all of Rommel's books - or at least all of those that remained, which meant the few that he had found in the remnants of the staff car. To cut a long story short, he was bored. What he did not know was that he would not be bored for a very long time, for he had barely wandered over half the corridor when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spinned round, to find himself face to face with captain Aldinger. The tall, dark-haired man had his left arm tightly bandaged, but other than that seemed fine. His face remained impassive, though, not even betraying the dislike Tom knew the man felt for him, which aroused the teen's curiosity. What could the captain want with him ?

"_Herr _Ritter, I was going to check on my guards and patrols. Would you care to join me ?" the German officer politely queried.

Tom's heartbeat slightly sped up, as he had not expected such a proposal, especially from Aldinger. And where was Merhoff ? The two officers usually spend most of their time together. The teen was certain Aldinger had something in store for him.

"Why, certainly", he gracefully replied, considering that accepting the offer was the quickest and the most simple way to get an answer to his questions.

"Then follow me."

Tom obeyed and they both went downstairs, before getting out of headquarters. Outside, the sun was shining brilliantly, and the heat was unbearable, which made Tom happy he had this cooling charm on his clothes. He squinted at Aldinger, who was profusely sweating, and with some difficulty refrained a snigger. Served him right. They walked in the shade of the buildings as much as possible, and headed to the first guard post. Aldinger kept silent, until Tom finally spoke.

"Captain, I take it you did not ask me to come along with you just for the pleasure of my company, whatever great this pleasure might be", he said with some insolence.

His provocation didn't work, though, as Aldinger merely eyed him dumbly.

"I was wondering, _herr _Ritter, whether you have ever heard of a man by the name of Wilkinson ?"

Tom's blood froze in his veins, and as quickly as he tried to hide his reaction, it wasn't lost on Aldinger - even more since he had been expecting it. However, the teen forced himself to reply in a sweet voice.

"I don't think I ever heard of anyone named thus. besides, it sounds like an english name to me. I don't have english friends."

And it was almost true.

"Oh, you don't, do you", Aldinger murmured.

Tom sighed. As funny as it was to make fun of Aldinger's paranoia, he knew he should not get on the bad side of the man, because sooner or later they would probably be side to side during a battle - and Tom didn't put it past the German officer to take advantage of an occasion to get rid of him.

"Captain", he resigned himself to say, "I feel we should clear up any misunderstanding you may have as to my intentions. I have no wish, whatsoever, to do any harm to my, hem, uncle."

The other man cast him a piercing glance. Tom had not yet had the time to really improve his legilimency, but he didn't really need it to fathom what Aldinger must be thinking.

"That's right, you have no reason to believe me. But remember that Rommel trusts me, and he knows everything there is to know about me. So, in the end, the question is 'do you trust your commanding officer ?' If yes, then there is no matter. If not, then you should see that with him, not with me."

"That was... quite blunt of you", Aldinger said after a silence. "I shall think about it."

He had lost none of his wariness, Tom noticed, but he was slightly less hostile as far as the teen could say. Well, that would have to do for the moment. But he didn't like the fact that Aldinger had so quickly, and so stubbornly, become distrustful of him. If the German officer had noticed a flaw in Tom's cover, so could others. And if the Gezaupo started to investigate... Yes, he probably should avoid as much as possible any contact with the Germans and stay close to Rommel. Apart from that, there was little he could do.

"If you will excuse me", Tom added, "I should head back now. The sun's not good for my complexion."

With that he left, and Aldinger thoughtfully watched him leave, obviously heading to headquarters. That conversation had been interesting, but he still knew nothing of this Ritter boy. Besides, it was somewhat knotty to bring up the subjet with the Feldmarschal himself. "Oh, by the way, sir, would your nephew happen to be a gestapo agent, or maybe a British spy ?" The first supposition would get him shot, and the second would make him _wish _he had been shot. He shook his head and resumed his inspection of his men. What else could he do ?

The following two days were uneventful, except for the sound of explosions and shooting that seemed to get closer and closer every minute. It made it difficult for everyone to sleep, and the result was quickly visible, most officers had bags under their eyes that showed their weariness. But, even Tom had to acknowledge it, the Germans were tenacious and brave. They all kept performing their duties, no matter what, and only a few of them ever complained, though there was quite a lot of things that would have justified the complaints, like the dusty taste of the water, or the heat, worse than ever. Several men had been sent to the infirmary after fainting while on guard duty. And they were veterans used to Africa and its torrid climate.

The third day was quiet enough, as the shooting had almost ceased, but this silence in itself was a bad omen, and the men, who knew it, were tense and nervous. Rommel himself was more silent than usual, as he inspected for the umpteenth time his soldiers and fortifications, followed by Tom - who had decided that shadowing the Feldmarschal was still better than lying idly on his bed with nothing to do. Sometimes, it was a little frustrating for the teen ; he was in the midst of military men, who had been fighting for month, or years, and most of the time he still felt like a mere visitor, though he had been in Africa for now almost four month ; even more so since he was the youngest, and as he had not made friends with anyone there, barring maybe Rommel, though he still hesitated to give him that status. But what made him feel the most foreign to them was exactly these moments, when everyone seemed to know something that _he _didn't know.

"What is going on ? Everyone seems like they are expecting something", he finally asked Rommel.

He may not be a soldier, and know nothing of war ; but he could learn. He was good at learning.

"It's because of the silence", the Feldmarschal explained. "It means the Allies have nothing more to fight, so they must have breached our lines. We are the last hindrance, the last defense ; once Alam Halfa has fallen, it will be an open door to the rest of Libya. So they are merely waiting for the good time to attack. They are also probably trying to find out more about the mine fields, to lose as few men as possible... I'd wager that they have spies right now on these sand dunes, watching with field glasses. But they will attack tonight."

"Why tonight ? It's not like we can do anything to stop them."

"Ah, but they don't know that. They probably fear we may prepare them a warm welcome, if given enough time, or maybe they believe I could escape. They won't take a chance ; they have nothing to gain by waiting. If not tonight, it will be tomorrow, but I don't think so", Rommel replied with a quiet laugh.

"That's great", the teen muttered. "So, we wait ?"

"There's nothing else we can do", the Feldmarschal commented.

"I don't understand !" Tom complained. "We are going to wait for them to come and take us as prisonners ?"

"Did I say that ?" Rommel asked back coldly. "Of course we won't let them take us. The whole German staff... It would be the end of the Axis war effort in Africa."

"So what are we going to do ?" Tom impatiently retorted.

"You'll know it when the time comes", the German wizard replied, shrugging.

"You won't tell me the..."

"Before you say what you were going to say, no, it is not a matter of trust. I need to think about it a little while longer, that's all", Rommel asserted in an annoyed tone.

"Hmm", the teen mumbled darkly, though he did not protest.

As the Feldmarschal had anticipated, the Allies attacked at dusk. There was no warning, other than the sound of the mines exploding. But the Germans had been ready for the assault they knew was to come for a long time, and they were far from taken by surprise. Tom, as he was not supposed to fight, had remained with Rommel, like most of the German staff officers, including general Von Arnim, but as the time died out, he realized it was probably not the best way to remain safe. Yes, the Germans were anxious to keep him safe and sound, but his natural recklessness made the task almost impossible. So, they were both just behind the first line when the Allied reached the town.

Tom sat down on a chair - they were in a small building, of which the thick walls made it a good shelter - and watched as Rommel went outside to have a look at the battle, but quickly retreated when a burst crashed on the wall near his head. Merhoff, who was standing near the British wizard, heaved a sigh of relief when he saw Rommel had not been wounded.

The teen heard the shouts, the explosions. So little hatred, in this battle... they fought, and they probably could not even have said why. What did Africa matter to them ? It was an arid land, dreamless, hopeless, from Tom's point of view. Patriotism was utterly foreign to his sheer core.

Hours went by, and they slowly started to retreat from building to building. Finally, Rommel clapped his hands behind his back, and Tom guessed he had made his decision - whatever it was.

"Aldinger, give the signal", he ordered.

Tom curiously watched as the officer went out, in spite of the danger, and fired in the air something that looked queerly like fireworks green and red, very visible in the darkness of the night.

"So ?" he said in a low voice to Rommel.

"The town is lost", the German wizard explained. "We inflicted as much loss as we could to the Allies, and there is nothing more we can do. They probably set some traps so as to prevent us from escaping the town, Montgomery is too efficient for not trying it. Probably commandos, with the order to capture as much high-ranking officers as possible in the expected rout that would follow the fall of Alam Halfa. We are going to retreat... Only, not in the direction they expected."

"Excuse me ?" the teen managed to say as he finally understood what Rommel intended to do. "You want to..."

"Clever boy", the German patted him on the head - Tom loathed to be patted on the head, but he was too dumbstrucked to protest.

"You want to go through Allied lines", he weakly murmured. "And here I thought you were crazy before. You are beyond crazy. You are utterly insane !"

The Germans cast him dark glances for daring to say such a thing to a man they all deeply respected, but as Rommel did not push it up, they could not say anything. The Feldmarschal merely smiled.

"I know."

**Ending note** : Well, I suppose you will think it's insane as well... but I found something interesting on wikipedia :

_"During the confusion caused by the Crusader operation, Rommel and his staff ended up behind Allied lines several times. On one occasion he visited a New Zealand Army field hospital, which was still under Allied control. "[Rommel inquired if anything was needed, promised the British [sic medical supplies and drove off unhindered." (General __Fritz Bayerlein__, The Rommel Papers, chapter 8.)"_


	16. We Truly Are Blessed

**A/N** : It's still not mine, but I'd be willing to negotiate.

* * *

_April 1944 - In the desert, somewhere in the north of Africa_

Tom wiped his forehead with his dust-covered hand, and heaved a weary sigh. The last night had been a nightmare, and no one had slept much, if at all. And now, they were stranded somewhere in the desert. The whole German staff had managed to avoid capture by the Allies, going through the mine fields by ways only Rommel knew, and shunning bombs, grenades or bullets, but they were far from saved. They were still behind Allied lines, even though they could see nothing but the desert all around them, and soon they would need more water and food. In brief, they needed to find their own lines, and the sooner would be the better.

To make the matter worse, Aldinger kept throwing him suspicious glances from time to time, apparently not totally convinced by their previous discussion. Merhoff was to busy looking for directions to do the same, but the captain did it well enough for the two of them. So as to avoid them, Tom had chosen to sit as far from them as possible. Of course, in the process, he had found himself sitting near general Von Arnim, who still seemed to be in a foul mood, and was not exactly the best of fellow-sufferers. But as Tom was - once more - deadly bored, he decided that annoying the man could be a good way to pass the time.

"So", he started casually. "Still pouting, are you ? Do you know just how childish it is ?"

He had not spoken very loudly, and with the sound of the car's engines, only the general could hear him, which allowed them some privacy. Still, Tom's words seemed to struck a nerve, for the man slightly reddened and looked daggers at the teen.

"I am not 'pouting'", he growled.

So he had taken the bait and started the argument. Not so brilliant for a general, who was supposed to be a good tactician, but he had attenuating circumstances, as he had not slept for over thirty-six hours, and was not in the best state of mind.

"Fine, you aren't", Tom smiled evilly. "It just so happens you look quite a lot like it."

The man scowled, his dark eyes glittering with the dislike he felt for Tom. It was weird, the teen mused, that so much of the German staff seemed to dislike him like that. With absolutely _no _reason at all.

"What are you getting at ?" the German snarled.

He was starting to lose his temper, Tom thought at first, but then he noticed that in spite of his contracted jaw, he was otherwise slack, his fist unclenched and laying on his knees. So, he was playing an act... maybe he was a worthy opponent in a verbal duel.

"Just givin' friendly advices", Tom asserted lazily.

"I don't think I need any of your 'friendly advices'", Von Arnim said in a low, dangerous voice.

"No ? As you wish", Tom smirked. "After all, it's not like you were _incompetant_."

He had not chosen this word randomly, and was rewarded by a sharp glance from the German general. He let a small smile spread on his face ; either he would make the man his worse ennemy, or he would gain his respect. The outcome of the discussion would decide for it. Either way, he did not care much, though it was fun to test his persuasion abilities on him.

"Fine", Von Arnim growled through gritted teeth. "You have made it clear you can eavesdrop whenever it suits you. I would not expect anything else from someone like you, but don't think you frighten me, you or any of your friends."

Taken aback, but trying not to show it, Tom cast a sidelong glance to the dark-haired man. What exactly was he talking about ? Now the balance of power had clearly changed, as the German general knew obviously something Tom didn't. Or could he be ony trying to confuse the teen, maybe so as to make him reveal things he would have kept silent otherwise ? Tom's brain surveyed the different possible explanations, as he tried to find something to say.

"I am not trying to frighten you, whatever you may think of it", he finally said bluntly, but Von Arnim merely shrugged.

"Actually, I don't really care", the German said contemptuously. "I don't like your kind. You have no personnality, you have no life, you don't even have any freedom of conscience. You just do the bidding of your masters. You are not even worthy of my time."

Tom's eyes widened slightly, as he tried to keep his temper. But it was hard ; fear, he could understand, and even take delight in it. Hatred, he could put up with, and laugh at it. But scorn, that hit him at the deepest of his soul. He had known it all too well, he had lived with it his whole life, before he was strong enough to _make _people respect him, and he would never forget what a hell it had made of his life. How it hurt when people saw him as worthless, or made fun of him. It made him burn with anger. It made him want to kill someone, to spill blood, to hit until his victim would beg for forgiveness and after.

Yet, he kept cool. He could not allow himself to show the extent of his fury to the other men present. He _would _not allow Von Arnim to see he had hit a trouble spot.

"If that is what you think, you are sorely mistaken", he hissed in an altered voice.

The general sneered, amusement clearly visible on his face. No matter the teen's effort, he had seen the effect of his words, and was quite satisfied with it. He could tell the boy was ambitious, but he was too young to play with grown men. If he tried, he could only hurt himself, in the general's opinion. Better to show him what he was up against, before he was hurt beyond repair. It wasn't too late for him to chose another path, even if it was way too late for Von Arnim himself. He knew, all too well, that once one had had the occasion to feel the delight of sheer power, it was difficult to relinquish. Even if some who probably have been better off without it, he thought ruefully.

After that, Tom gave up talking with the general - who was much too clever for his own good - and kept silent, as did Von Arnim. Actually, no one talked much. No one had much too say ; the fall of Alam Halfa was weighing on everyone's thoughts, and morale was not very high. Besides, even if the highest ranking officers had avoided capture, the German troops based in the town had probably met a less lenient fate, and it was not good for they already lacked men _before _Montgomery's offensive.

They finally stopped the cars, though they were still in the middle of the desert, on Rommel's order, and Tom took the opportunity to get rid of Von Arnim's company by getting closer to the Feldmarschal. He found the German wizard busy studying a man, and in no mood to be disturbed.

"What do you want ?" he snapped when he saw the teen.

"You could at least _pretend _you are pleased to see me", the teen scoffed.

"No need to lie. I am _not _pleased to see you", Rommel snarled.

It was not like him to be so brusque, and Tom stiffened at the rejection. His surprise and irritation at being treated like that (for the second time in a row) must have shown, for Rommel sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily.

"I apologize", he said. "I did not mean to be rude."

"We are all tired", the teen offered. "And, if I can trust how you look, we are in deep trouble."

"That we are", the Feldmarschal agreed in annoyance. "I have no idea how Allied lines are organized, if there are patrols, where... actually, I know _nothing_. If I had more time and men, I would send scouts, but we have barely enough water and fuel for the next two days. The only thing I can do is go and hope we don't encounter Allies. Maybe Caesar liked to play with dice, but I don't. Yet, I don't have a choice."

"It was the only way to avoid capture. We're still better here than in a prisonners of war camp", Tom said to cheer him up. His words of comfort did not seem to work, though.

"Bah !" the Feldmarschal growled. "I don't know why I'm losing time looking for a solution that doesn't exist."

He folded the map testily, and stared at the desert as if he hoped to see solutions appear out of thin air. He did not look well, Tom finally noticed. Well, none of them did, covered in dust as they were, but he looked worse. He had of course not had the time to shave, and his chin was rough with the first hints of a beard. His blue eyes were burning with weariness and tension, and his eyelids were dropping in exhaustion. The situation was taking its toll on him. And it would have been so easy, had they been able to use magic, Tom thought ruefully. What was the interest of sending wizards in Africa if they could not use their special abilities because of the presence of muggles ?

All right, maybe the possibility to defend against an _Impero _spell has something to do with it. And the skill to Apparate, or question prisonners with some more... effectiveness.

"A pity we don't have an animagi able to transform himself in a bird here", Tom joked.

"Hmm", Rommel absent-mindedly replied.

A little surprised by his lack of reaction, the teen suddenly understood why he had been staring at the desert so intently. Obviously, Tom was not the only one to know how to cast Farsight spells.

"See anything ?" he asked with interest.

"Only the sandy desert and the shining sun", the Feldmarschal replied testily.

Said in that tone, his words lost a lot of their poetry, Tom thought, deadpan. He followed the German wizard when he went back to his car, and this time remained close to him, as he did not wish to find himself near Von Arnim if he could avoid it. Even Merhoff and Aldinger's company was better than his, he thought with a remnant feeling of anger burning inside him.

They resumed their journey. From the position of the sun, Tom could say they were heading straight to the north-east. That way, they were certain to reach either the coast or their own lines, given enough time. But German positions could not have receded that much overnight ; they would probably not even need all their fuel and water. In the end, the only problem remained the Allies. A pity they had not think to take a wireless radio... but, at any rate, even if they had, they probably could not have used it so close to the ennemy lines, for fear of being located. They had been lucky so far that no plane had flown over them and noticed them.

The teen's musing were put to an end when the car suddenly stopped, shaking roughly the passengers.

"What the hell..." Tom started, but he abruptly fell silent when he saw the tracks.

They were clearly visible on the sand, which meant they had to be recent, otherwise they would be already fading because of the wind. The teen had no experience in car tracks, but even he could say, from the pattern, that it must be some kind of truck. What he didn't fully realise at first, however, was the importance these tracks had. In his opinion, rather than stop, they should on the contrary leave as quick as possible, and thank Merlin they had not been there minutes earlier, when the truck - probably an Allied one - had passed.

"We truly are blessed", Merhoff murmured, and Tom scowled ; the major obviously understood something he didn't, and he _loathed _that.

But they thought in a military manner, and he still didn't, so he would have to come to terms with it.

"What's the matter ?" he asked Rommel with resignation.

"If there are tracks, it means there is either an Allies or Axis truck", Merhoff replied instead of the German wizard.

"And so ?"

"If it is an Axis truck, then it's good for us, because it will give us more manpower, and maybe intelligence. If it is an Allied truck, then it's also good for us, because we will make prisonners."

"And prisonners are meant to be interrogated", Tom completed as he comprehended where the major was going. "It might give us the informations we need about the Allied lines."

"Clever boy", Rommel smiled. "We'll just have to follow the tracks."

"What if these tracks lead us to an Allied camp, or a town they have under their control ?" the teen enquired.

"That is a possibility, of course", the German wizard shrugged. "But that's a chance we'll have to take. Besides, we have field glasses, so we'll be able to check where we are heading."

Well, it still sounded better than going by guesswork, in Tom's opinion. It was not like their situation could get that much worse. If they were captured, they just would have to escape - which would not be all that hard for wizards. Of course, it would be bad for the German war effort in Africa, but if wasn't Tom's business. He was there as a spy, not as a supporter.

"Well then, let's go", he said. "I can't wait to take a shower."

Rommel sniggered, but gave the order, and they started chasing their unaware prey.


	17. You Are The Desert Fox

**Author's note**: The sentences in italics are either in French or in English. The rest is in German.

Disclaimer: They're all mine, and I wrote the HP books.

…

Did you actually believe that?

* * *

_March 1944 - Libyan Desert_

Tom was creeping along a dune, spitting on the ground as discreetly as possible the sand that had somehow managed to sneak into his mouth. Sand threaded its way everywhere, in a weird, magical way. It was more evil than Grindelwald himself, and seemed to take pleasure in torturing Tom ceaselessly by making him itch. The teen gritted his teeth as he felt the dusty taste of the sand, a taste he didn't manage to be rid of no matter what he did.

It was dusk, and the first stars were beginning to shine up in the sky. No sound could be heard, at least on the German side. After chasing the unknown truck for several hours, they had finally caught up with it, discovering at the same time that it was an Allied one. So they had stopped their own cars and started the slow process of getting closer to their prey without letting their own presence be noticed. For some time, Tom had feared the Allies would just leave, and all their efforts would have been done in vain, but he had soon realized the small group of Allied soldiers was setting a camp for the night. Lady Luck was with them, the teen thought with fierce excitement.

And now, there they were, barely twenty meters away from their ten prisoners-to-be, surrounding them and on stand-by to take them, guns at the ready. All they were waiting for was Rommel's signal. The Feldmarschall was near Tom, half buried in the sand. His blond hair and dusty face made him difficult to spot, whereas Tom had had to put as much sand as he could on his own jet-black hair. In his opinion, he would not be easy to notice in the dark, whether he had blond or black hair, but he had been too tired to protest much, and he had relented. He was starting to regret it, thinking of how much time he would need to get rid of it all.

The teen squinted at the Feldmarschall, wondering what the man was waiting for. Rommel was staring intently at a dune facing them, and more precisely at the spot where Aldinger must be hiding. He was nowhere to be seen, and Tom guessed that Rommel was worried, with no way of knowing whether the captain had made it yet to the place he was supposed to be. They had agreed upon not giving any signals before the attack itself, for fear of alerting the Allies before they were ready to attack.

But suddenly, the German wizard took in a sharp breath, and desperately put his hand on his mouth, trying to prevent himself from coughing. Torn between a mad laugh and tears of despair, Tom hesitated. They were so close that he did not dare to say a Silencing spell, not to mention doing magic in front of Muggles. Besides, he would need to aim his wand at the Feldmarschall, and Tom did not dare to move too abruptly - if the Allies noticed him... Finally, Rommel buried his head in the sand, and somehow managed to restrain his cough. Tom heaved a sigh of relief, and the German wizard carefully wiped the sand off his face.

At last, Rommel raised his hand; it was the signal his officers had been expecting, and Merhoff prepared for his "ambassador" job. He would act as spokesman for the Germans. Rommel would have done it himself, but Merhoff had fiercely insisted to be the one to talk; if it came to a fight, the German officer knew the one to speak would be the Allies' first target, and as much as he hated to be that person, he still preferred that to Rommel doing it. Hopefully, his orator skills would serve to avoid bloodshed. If not... the Germans would still have the upper hand in a battle, since they were well hidden, and ready to take their enemies' lives at any sign of hostility.

"_Hands up!"_ the major shouted in rough, heavily accented English. "_We surround you. If any of you try to take his weapon, we will fire without a warning. Be assured we will not hesitate._"

Of course, it stirred up a panic, and the Allied soldiers started to stand and move toward their weapons, but they quickly understood they were at a disadvantage and would be massacred if they tried to fire against their invisible enemies. They shared disgusted glances, realizing just how foolish they had been not to set a sentry. But it was too late to cry over spilled milk.

_"Hands up!"_ Merhoff repeated warningly, and the tension rose in a noticeable way.

"_Do as he says_", his order was confirmed by one of the Allies, obviously an officer and probably the leader of the small group.

There was a sigh of relief on both sides, and the soldiers obeyed. The whole skirmish had lasted barely a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, but it had felt much longer. Tom glanced at Rommel as the German officers started to gather their enemies' guns and put them away.

"It's gonna be a problem, to keep an eye on that many prisoners", the teen said matter-of-factly.

"It is not like I had a choice in the matter", the Feldmarschall replied, shrugging. "I could not order these men to be shot without even a warning, when we outnumbered them and had them at a disadvantage. If we had been only five or so instead of about twenty, I might have dealt with the situation differently, but in this situation, acting like I did is what makes the difference between war and slaughters."

"But you took a chance. Had they not surrendered…"

"Yes, I did. And it worked", the German wizard pointed out impatiently. "That's all that matters."

"Fine, fine", Tom relented, brushing his hair with his hand. Some sand fell on his shoulders, and he dusted them off. "So what do we do now?"

"Interrogate them, of course. We might spend the night here, too - must be safe, if they chose the location. But of course, unlike them, we'll post a sentry. In the morning, once we get the information we need, we will decide on a course of action."

"But how are you going to make them talk?" the teen enquired. "I mean, that's you soldier's Holy credo... the 'name, rank, serial number' policy. And knowing you, there's no chance you're going to torture them."

"Well, hopefully they don't know that", Rommel groaned.

"Or do you have Veritaserum?" the teen added on second thought. The Feldmarschall stared at him.

"I don't go around with Veritaserum in my pockets", he said tersely. "If need be", he then conceded, "We _might _use magical means. But I'll try talking first. It's safer."

"Whatever you say", Tom muttered, not looking really convinced.

He followed the German wizard, who was heading towards Merhoff. The major was holding off the Allied officer, his Lüger at the ready. The other enemy soldiers were being restrained by the Germans with handcuffs, or rope, as they had not enough handcuffs for all their prisoners. The Allied officer raised his head when he saw Rommel approach, and stiffened when the Feldmarschall came close enough for the prisoner to see his rank insignias. Then he saluted, as he was supposed to according to the Geneva Convention.

He was of average height and weight, with light brown hair and soft grey eyes. His angular features were suntanned, which showed the man must have been spending quite some time in the desert, and his uniform was a lieutenant's. His ruffled jacket was also evidence that he had not had any occasion to change his clothes in a long time.

"_Lieutenant Emmanuel Saintclair des Forces Françaises Libres", _he said in a weary voice._ "Matricule 873653._"

Then he closed his mouth with enough determination for Tom to guess that, in order to make him say something he did not want to, the Germans would need a jemmy. The stubbornness of this man was as blatant as a swastika armband on a Gestapo officer. Well, anyway, he had been speaking in a foreign language - probably French. It was more or less obvious that he had been reciting his "name, rank, serial number" quotes, but if he did not speak German, or at least English, it would make an interrogation troublesome.

"_Parlez-vous Allemand?_" Rommel asked in the same language.

The man shook his head, which was not too difficult to understand, though Tom had no clue what the Feldmarschall had asked. Must have been something about the language he spoke.

"_Do you speak English?_" the wizard then patiently asked, in a German-accented voice. This time, the prisoner nodded.

"_I do speak English_", he said awkwardly. "_Though not fluently._"

"Now we're getting somewhere", Tom started to hope.

Rommel hushed him up with a glare, and transferred his attention back to the French officer, who was staring at the Feldmarschall intently, trying to make out his features in the darkness, as if trying to remember where he had seen him before. Tom managed to refrain from sneering; the lieutenant would figure it out eventually. Unfortunately for Rommel, his face was quite famous, and remaining anonymous – especially with _that _uniform – would be a wager for him.

"_I have some questions to ask you_", Rommel told the prisoner. But the Frenchman mulishly shook his head.

"_Lieutenant Emmanuel Saintclair des Forces Françaises libres, matricule..._" he started.

"All right, all right", Tom muttered fretfully. "I think we got that part."

"Shut up", the Feldmarschall retorted acridly. He motioned for Merhoff to approach. "Have everyone settle down, and I want at least three men guarding the prisoners at all times. If any attempt to escape is made, you are allowed to shoot to kill."

Tom, who was watching the prisoner while Rommel was talking, noticed the wince the man gave at the words, and he suspected he was able to understand German. Saintclair had, in all likelihood, lied. It was logical; he would be more likely to gather intelligence if his jailers did not know he could understand them.

"Yes, sir", the major nodded. "Colonel Dietrich and captain Aldinger are making dinner. Do you want me to bring you something?"

"No thanks. I shall join you once I am done with our prisoner. I will interrogate him in the tent."

Indeed, the Allied soldiers had pitched a tent back to back with the truck. It was not very big, but enough for three or four men to sit comfortably and more privately than in the outside. Tom glanced around; the German officers were either sitting on the ground, or guarding the prisoners, or making dinner. Von Arnim seemed to be still "pouting". Or at least he was not in a good mood... for a change. The idle teen decided to follow Rommel and assist in the interrogation. He did not see Aldinger nudge Colonel Dietrich, nor did he hear him when he spoke softly to his superior.

"Seems like the Gestapo boy found himself a toy..."

"Nah", Dietrich shook his head. "The chief would not allow that to happen."

"Hope so."

"Himmler may have a long arm, but not so long as to reach Libya."

"You're probably right", Aldinger said reluctantly.

In the tent, Tom sat down on the ground, legs crossed, while Rommel found himself a chair and motioned for the prisoner to take a seat as well. The kerosene lamp was still lit, hanging down from the roof of the tent, diffusing a faint light which created many shadows. But, while Rommel's face was hidden in the darkness, Saintclair's was in plain sight, directly lit up by a ray of light from the lamp.

"He speaks German", Tom said off-handedly.

"He does?" the Feldmarschall raised an eyebrow.

"Yep. Saw him twitch when you spoke to Aldinger."

The two wizards stared at the prisoner, who seemed to be disgusted with himself.

"I guess it's no use to pretend anymore", the Frenchman muttered in an annoyed tone. His German accent was awful, but he seemed to speak well enough.

"Indeed", Tom sniggered.

"Enough", Rommel cut him of. "I would like you to fully understand the predicament you are in", he added for Saintclair's benefit.

"Oh, believe me, I do", the lieutenant replied bitterly.

"I'm not talking of your being my prisoner", the German wizard retorted with a wave of his hand. "You hold crucial information. The problem being, from your point of view, the lives of your men may depend on your decision to give away this information or not."

"What do you mean?" Saintclair asked, suddenly tensed.

"Make no mistake", Rommel said coldly. "If you don't speak, we may not be able to find a path to our lines. In that case, choices will have to be made, for we have only a limited amount of supplies. I can't, and won't, put my men's lives in jeopardy. I believe you can guess what my decision would be, had I to choose between your and my men's lives."

"But according to the Geneva Convention..." the prisoner protested with fire in his voice.

"The Geneva Convention has nothing to do here", the Feldmarschall replied icily, squelching the other man's fire. "This is a matter of survival. That does not leave me much choice. As much as I would loathe that decision, I would do it."

"However, the rules of war..." Saintclair tried again.

"Rules?" Rommel laughed bitterly. "War is not a game. We are here to kill each other, nothing else."

After that, there was a dead silence. Tom inwardly shivered. If it was an act, Rommel was a fine actor. The teen had never seen him speak like that, in such a detached, unmoved, cold voice. It felt strange, to hear Rommel, of all people, speak like that. It was so _not _like him... Tom almost started to wonder whether it really was an act or not.

"You can save your men", the Feldmarschall hammered. "All you have to do is to tell me how to get back to my lines. I can give you my word you will be treated accordingly to your rank and to the Geneva Convention, once you are a prisoner of war."

"I..." Saintclair began to say, and then shut up. It was obvious that he was torn, and wasn't sure what course of action he could take. "WHAT!" he suddenly exploded. "You can't ask me that! I'm not a traitor!"

There was some noise outside the tent, and the head of one of the German officers came into view.

"Excuse me, but is there a problem, _Herr _Feldmarschall?"

"No", Rommel calmly replied. "You can return to whatever it was you were doing."

"Yes sir." The officer clicked his heels, saluted, and disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

Understanding dawned on the face of Saintclair when he heard the rank, and Tom saw the moment the lieutenant fathomed the truth. The prisoner gaped at the German wizard, eyes wide. It was a moment before he was able to speak.

"You... You are the Desert Fox!" he said in awe.

* * *

**Ending note**: Well, I wrote this chapter with what's left of national pride in me, and the result is the FFL showing up. I don't think we French can be really proud of our attitude during the war (I'm not saying I'd have done any better, but still...) but we should nevertheless remember that there were French soldiers that fought against the Nazis, not only in Africa but also in England, in France as resistance forces, and then as soldiers after D-Day. And, what can I say? I'm supposed to defend my country.

I didn't translate the French sentences, 'cause it's not really hard to guess what it's all about, and because I didn't know where to put the translation.


	18. Shall We Try Another Approach ?

**A/N** : Disclaimer, yes, again. I'm making a lot of money with that story. Say, about 0 euros, dollars and any other currencies. See, a trial is really not worth it. The only real benefit I get out of writing this is my and my reader's pleasure. Though the second remains to be proved.

* * *

_March 1944 - Libya, somewhere in the desert, behind Allies lines_

The French lieutenant was staring at Rommel, unable to tear his gaze away from the man that had become a legend in the desert. His surprise was genuine, no man could possibly fake the expression Saintclair wore on his face. He looked as if he still could not believe it, though he knew it to be true. He had seen pictures of the Desert Fox, and it was exactly the same face (in spite of the exhaustion), the same blond hair, the same height, the same piercing blue eyes. No, he could not be mistaken. And as he realized that, Saintclair realized also something else.

"I will not speak", he said forcefully. "I have heard of you, sir." His soft voice carried the respect he felt. "I know what kind of man you are. You would never harm us, now that we are your prisoners."

Rommel's face darkened, not because it was true, but because now the prisoner had become aware of it, he could not intimidate him any further with that kind of bluff. In that case, little choice remained. He had to use magic, but he hated the thought. Using magic against a muggle to make him talk sounded way too much like torture to his taste. Of course, he would not inflict any pain to the man, but still... Yet, even as these thoughts crossed his mind, he knew they would not change his ultimate decision. He would do what needed to be done, no matter how much he hated it, because it was war and he owed that much to his men. The end justified the means. As always. He compelled himself to remain impassive, and coldness gleamed in his eyes.

"Well, it was worth trying", Tom sighed, though not looking all that rueful. It was no secret the boy did not care much for muggles, although Rommel managed to forget it. Most of the time. "Shall we try another... approach ?"

For the first time since he had guessed Rommel's identity, the Allied prisoner showed some nervousness, and his gaze shifted from the teen to the high-ranking German. However, he did not ask what Tom meant - half because he did not dare to try it, and half because he did not think his questions would be answered anyway.

"Yes", the Feldmarschall nodded, an ashy taste in his mouth.

He knew he could ask Tom to do it, and the British wizard would not care ; but if he asked anyone else to do it, he would feel like a coward for the rest of his life. If he was to allow it to happen, he shall at least do it himself. His face hardened slightly ; enough sentimentality, now was the time to act. They were wasting time. He drew his wand and pointed it at Saintclair, who now looked openly afraid.

"_Confiteris_", he said in a harsh voice.

A shroud of blue, glittering mist surrounded the French officer, who after writhing for a few seconds, stopped to resist, his eyes now empty and dull looking straight in front of him, as if he was blind. He kind of was.

"A handy spell", Tom said with the scientific interest a naturalist could have shown for a notably fascinating species of bugs. "I had never seen it before. Could you teach me...?"

"No", Rommel replied tersely. "I believe we have more important things to think about."

The teen scowled, but was clever enough not to insist. When the German wizard was in that mood... No, better not to not make an issue of it, he would have all the time to ask again later. He wondered what got the man so upset. After all, he was going to get the intel he so badly needed, and yet he looked like he had been demoted. Really, he was impossible to understand.

"What is your name ?" Rommel queried, turning towards his prisoner.

Of course, he already knew the answer to this question ; the aim of the query was to make sure the spell was correctly being effective, and also to put the man in a better state of mind for the interrogation by starting with a simple, non-vital information. The questions would, by slow degrees, get more sensitive, until the man was ready to give away crucial intel. It was necessary to proceed that way, not only because the answers would be more complete and reliable, but also because otherwise the Allied officer might suffer brain damage. If he tried with all the power of his will not to talk, while the spell compelled him to, that could be very dangerous for his sanity and mental health. Magic had its limits.

"Emmanuel Yves Saintclair", the lieutenant replied, after a brief hesitation.

That made Rommel frown. The man was strongwilled, which might make the interrogation harder. Fortunately, Tom had the commonsense to remain silent ; several people asking different questions could be disturbing for the prisoner.

"How old are you ?" the Feldmarschall pushed on.

"I... I am... twenty-eight."

The German wizard went on with trivial questions, until he deemed Saintclair was ready for the following phase. Soon enough, he knew about the lieutenant's family, his birthday date, his siblings (a brother and a sister), his pet (a dog), and even the time of the year. Aside from the fact it was not all that much interesting, Rommel did not like probing like that, but he had to. However, he was relieved when the prisoner seemed ready for more important matters. Tom, for one, wasn't even trying to hide his boredom anymore and yawned from time to time.

"What is your commander's name ?" the high-ranking German finally asked carefully.

"Captain Alistair Sander", Saintclair replied in a tame voice.

"Where are located your other units ? Show me on the map."

Rommel unfolded an ordnance survey map and held it near the prisoner so he could pinpoint the location of Allied forces in all the perimeter. Tom held his breath, as it was the main question ; from the answer could depend their life or death, and he did not care much for dying at such a young age. But Saintclair complied and showed them, while Rommel wrote the intel down on the map with a red pen. Slowly, a pattern started to show, and the two wizards began to fathom what Montgomery had been thinking about when he had ordered his troops to patrol like that.

"Clever", the German wizard muttered absent-mindedly, as if talking to himself, or maybe thinking out loud. "It's going to be very hard to pass through these patrols without being noticed, especially with the lack of water. We lack food too, but we can go hungry for a while..."

"We could also go straight forward and take down the patrols that hinder us", Tom suggested.

"Of course we could, but we already have more prisonners than I care to keep", Rommel groaned. "Besides, it is unlikely we could take them without casualties on our side, and all my men are valuable officers. I'd rather to get them all back safely. Or, maybe..."

He fell silent, thoughtful, and it soon became obvious he had totally forgotten his prisoner and Tom. Slightly vexed, the teen cleared his throat rather loudly.

"One mark for your thoughts", he teased Rommel.

The older man managed a wry smile.

"I was just thinking maybe we could use our prisoners' uniforms and try to masquerade as an Allied patrol. But it probably wouldn't work."

"Why not ?" the teen marveled.

"Because if I know Montgomery, he will have thought of it as well, and there will be passwords and such. Plus they will probably know each other, and also know where are the patrols supposed to be. They will be suspicious of us, because Montgomery is certainly trying to locate us. Capturing us would almost be the same as victory over Africa, for him, so I doubt he will stop searching anytime soon."

He sighed wearily, as Tom pondered his words. Had he been alone, the British wizard would have left the muggles on their own, assuming they would be able to fend for themselves (even if they weren't, he didn't care much), and would have tried to Apparate somewhere else - though it would be difficult, as Apparition was strictly controled in war time. A chance to take. Nevertheless, he was not alone, so the problem was much more complicated.

Eventually, Rommel flicked his wand at the prisoner and muttered the counter-spell. Then, before the man had the time to recover, he cast an Obliviate spell, before deftly hiding his wand in its sheath, and folding the map before putting it away in his breast pocket. Saintclair blinked, his eyes unfocused, and it was a few seconds before the French officer returned to full consciousness. Dismissing his headache and confused thoughts on account of exhaustion, he resumed the conversation that he believed to be going on.

"I will not talk", he said with obstination.

"Fine", Rommel replied, shrugging. Surprise crossed the other man's eyes.

"Just like that ? You give up making me talk ?" he queried in astonishment.

"As you remarked", the high-ranking German pointed out, "I would not torture you. You are obviously determined not to say a syllable, so there is little more I can do to make you talk. I exposed the current situation to you ; you would not relent. So I will find other ways to get us out of this predicament."

"You would", the prisoner murmured with something like unease in his gaze.

He remembered all too well the rumors he had heard about the Desert Fox, and the unearthly powers some believed him to possess. Hitler's well known interest in occultism backed these hearsay. Saintclair himself had never believed in such nonsense, but reluctantly he came to wonder if there was not more truth in it than he had thought at the time. Somehow, he felt some sort of anguish as he saw the famous field marshall stand and leave the tent, followed by that strange boy, who looked nothing like military to the French officer.

Unaware of his prisoner's uneasy thoughts, Rommel thoughtfully strode to the fire Aldinger and Dietrich had kindled. He was starting to feel as hungry as Gargantua. He had got from Saintclair all the answers he could tear away from him, and watching the man was not going to give him the strategy he needed.

"What are we going to do ?" Tom enquired with curiosity.

"For now, eat", the German wizard replied succinctly.

"I meant after", the teen retorted with composure, now used to his fellow wizard's terse answers.

"I'm not sure yet", Rommel reluctantly admitted. "But the only sound strategy is to eat something, get some rest, and think about it tomorrow in the morning. My mind will be much clearer then. If you have any inspired idea, though, feel free to share."

"Sure will", Tom mumbled, without much conviction.

Most officers had already finished to eat their abstemious diner, but Aldinger had kept a plateful for his superior, and another, suprisingly enough, for Tom. Was the man starting to like him, or had he decided to believe what the teen had told him, what seemed like ages ago, in Alam Halfa ? Most unlikely, the British wizard thought, not without irony. More presumably, the captain knew that doing something as petty and mean as not keeping Tom's diner would stir up Rommel's wrath, and he did not want to risk it. Or he was clever enough to realize that, in their current situation, they had to stick together. But _only _until they reached safety.

The diner, unsurprisingly, had a sandy aftertaste. Tom had overstepped the stage of mere hatred for Libya. He felt resignation, and swore himself that once gone, he would never, _never_ come back. But he was as hungry as Rommel, so he ate with few complaints. The Feldmarschal made sure the prisoners had eaten, and was not disapointed ; his officers knew him well enough to make the necessary arrangements, and they were humane too. Tom felt more tired than he had in his whole life, or so it seemed to him, so he finally lied down with bliss. There was that one good thing about sand ; it was way softer than usual to sleep on the ground. He felt asleep almost at once, though he kept his wand in hand. One could never be too careful.

Rommel, on the other hand, and in spite of his own exhaustion, had trouble falling asleep. He felt not too good, for one, and knew his illness was overtaking him. How much longer could he hold ? Not much, he feared. But the true reason of his insomnia was the worry he felt. He had not the shade of an idea as to what he would do in the morning. His "brilliant" idea of hiding beind ennemy lines looked none too good now. Maybe he had been a little too reckless, this time... Was the Desert Fox in his last entrenchment ?

Lying on his back, he watched the cloudy sky, without suspecting that maybe the answer, and the way out, was up there.


	19. Not Such A Big Storm

**A/N** : They're not mine, bla bla bla, they're all Rowling's, bla bla bla, I don't make any money, bla bla bla. There, happy ?

* * *

_March 1944 - somewhere in the desert - Libya_

When Tom awoke, the sky was still dark. But he soon realised it wasn't because of the time of day, but because of the threatening clouds that hovered above them. There was also a lot of wind, and during his sleep the teen had been half buried by the sand. It was excruciatingly itching, as he had sand everywhere on his body. His only consolation was that he wasn't the only victim, if he could trust the sight he had of the men scratching themselves all around the camp.

Rommel was already awaken, but merely standing on the ground, watching intently at the horizon. Tom snorted. It had not been raining a single day since he was in Africa, and of course there just _had _to be a storm the one day he was stranded in the desert. Life was _so _unfair.

He rejoined Rommel, and tried to see what fascinated him so much in that sand storm. He had to admit, the scenery was impressive, with whirling wind - or rather, whirling sand - and a dim light, but it was quickly boring to watch, in his point of view. Yet, knowing the Feldmarschal, he wouldn't divulge anything being asked, so the young wizard resigned himself.

"So, what's so fascinating in that storm ?" he queried eagerly.

"Nothing especially", Rommel replied thoughtfully. "Else than our way out."

Tom raised an eyebrow. To him, a storm involved a lot of things, among which big problems and a great deal of itching, but certainly not a solution to their predicament. Something made him forebode another crazy idea, and he suspiciously eyed the high-ranking German.

"What exactly do you have in mind ?" he asked with an annoyed frown.

"Always the impatient one, aren't you", the Feldmarschal commented. "This storm is going straight on us. Soon we won't be able to see a thing around."

"To me, sounds like a good reason to find another place to be. Far from here, preferably."

"On the contrary", Rommel retorted. "If we won't see a thing, that means the Allies will be blind too."

"What do you have in... oh, no. Certainly not." Tom blanched when he realized what exactly the German wizard was thinking about. "I won't let you try this insanity, no way. Besides, I don't think the others would let you do it either."

"It's not such a big storm", the German wizard said in a soothing voice.

"Looks big enough to me."

"Don't be mistaken, I don't rejoice going through that storm", the Feldmarschal groaned caustically. "But it's our best chance. We have barely enough food and water for two or three days."

"I'd almost rather be taken prisoner", the teen moaned. "At least, we'd have a good chance to stay alive."

"And the war would be lost for Germany", the older wizard retorted.

"Well, I'm British, I can't say I care much."

"We already talked about that", Rommel said sternly. "But if you want to try your chance with the Allies, I can't stop you. Only your cover would be blown, so you wouldn't be able to come back. Your choice."

Tom snorted, but shook his head. He knew he wouldn't leave. He couldn't leave, not like that, secretly, shamefully, without having accomplished anything. He wanted to have a part in Grindelwald's defeat, and he had sworn himself he wouldn't leave the side of Rommel until the dark wizard was beated. Grindelwald appeared to him as the first trial, the first thing to get rid of, on the path of greatness he was intent on following.

The older wizard saw the stubborn expression on Tom's face, and inwardly smiled.

Aldinger, who had been supervising the transfer of equipment in their cars and in the captured truck, approached his commander-in-chief, with a scrutinizing glance. When he saw him, Tom remarked he looked terrible. His uniform was torn, dusty and filthy, his hair sandy, and his face was the same color as his hair. There was also dried blood on his cloth, courtesy of an Allied soldier during their leak from Alam Halfa. The teen wondered if he himself looked the same. Rommel did, so he did probably as well.

"Good morning, sir. What are your orders ?" the captain queried, his perfect military manners seeming slightly out of place with his shabby-looking uniform.

"We will leave as soon as possible", Rommel answered quietly.

The lower-ranking officer's face betrayed his surprise and confusion, but he quickly regained his composure.

"Leave, sir ?" he hesitated, careful not to look like he was criticizing his commander-in-chief, but more like he wanted to confirm his orders. However, the German wizard was not fooled by the warily neutral expression the captain had taken up. "If I may, sir..." Aldinger now appeared like a good subordinate who had an idea but was too shy to express himself. The man was a damn fine actor.

"You may", the Feldmarschal replied, amused by Aldinger's game.

"Wouldn't it be more prudent to wait until the end of the storm ?" the captain now sounded like he wasn't sure whether it was or not a good idea, but eager to appear as if he had a good understanding of the situation. The tone of his voice could have been a young ensign's barely twenty years old. Rommel idly wondered if the man doubted his sanity, but leniently decided to put an end to his subordinate's dodgy situation.

"It would certainly be more prudent", he agreed pleasantly. "Hopefully, that will be the Allies' opinion as well."

Aldinger's right eyebrow rose so high that it almost reached his hairline.

"You want us to use the storm so as to cross the Allied lines ?" he asked in disbelief.

"Clever boy", Rommel smiled.

He didn't pat the captain on the head, but he didn't need to for everyone to picture the gesture. His tone was eloquent enough. Aldinger seemed to ponder the idea ; to his credit, he did not dismiss it at once as unrealizable, but seemed to actually consider the probabilities of a success.

"No one in their right mind would try that", Tom muttered.

"We are still alive", the captain pointed out, shrugging. "We may have a chance, after all. Besides, an order is an order." He raised his head to meet Rommel's gaze. "Do you make that an order, sir ?" he asked for confirmation.

"Do I have to ?" the wizard countered.

Aldinger pursed his lips.

"No, sir." He didn't say more, but these two words were self-sufficient. "Then I shall tell the others so they can get ready."

"Of course", Rommel nodded.

Once the captain was gone, the German wizard rubbed his hands with a crooked smile. Obviously, he had something in mind.

"Keep our favourite captain in sight, will you ?" he told Tom. "Warn me if he looks my way."

"What are you going to do ?" the teen asked while doing as ordered.

"Please. You did not think I would just charge at that storm without, say, preparing myself. Or rather, preparing our vehicles."

"So which spells are you going to use ?" the British wizard asked, now smiling as well.

"Oh, a nice Weight spell, a few steadying charms, maybe a resistance enchantment. Nothing really innovatory, but enough to keep us in one piece."

It took barely a few minutes to cast the concerned spells, charms and enchantments, and some time later everyone was ready to leave. The Germans had now two additional vehicle, but also ten prisonners to fit inside, so the distribution was slightly different from their previous trip. There were five prisonners and five German officers in each of the two trucks, and the remaining officers crowded in the two staff cars. Rommel was in the head car, along with Merhoff, who was driving, Tom, Saintclair, and Von Arnim, who was keeping a close eye on the prisonner. The Allied officer had been separated from his men because of his rank, as the prisoners would be less likely to try an escape if they had not an officer to supervise.

They all had laid hold of pieces of cloth and wrapped them on the lower part of their face, so as not to be suffocated by the sand. While they were preparing, the wind had gained speed, and gusts of wind were now clouting their faces. They were looking like Touaregs, in Tom's opinion. When they would get back to their lines - if they lived long enough to pull that out - the German soldiers wouldn't recognize their officers.

"Let's go", Rommel ordered. "Not too fast, I wouldn't want us to be separated from the others."

Seated on one of the backseats, Saintclair was stiffly, resentfully glaring at the Germans. He had been told of the plan, as Rommel could not take the risk to let them get back to their lines when they knew where he was, and therefore which way he was most likely to take. In other circumstances, he might have offered the prisoners to choose their own fate rather than put their lives in jeopardy, but in this case he had chosen not to. But the Allied lieutenant, in the belief that going through the storm was the same as comitting suicide, was infuriated, and let everyone know it. His sullen face matched Von Arnim's, which made Tom inwardly chuckle.

As they were progressing, the wing kept growing more and more violent. The amount of sand it carried made it abrasive. The Germans had goggles, part of their uniform, but the Allied prisonners and Tom, who was in civilian clothes, were almost blinded. That being so, that was rather good for them ; blind prisoners were not very likely to escape. Well, if any of them was foolish enough to try an escape in the throes of a sandstorm.

It was now impossible to talk, unless shouting, and even then the words were carried away by the wind, which made conversation difficult. As a result, everyone kept silent. It was, without a shade of doubt, the worst and most violent storm Tom had ever seen. Not such a big storm. Duh ! The teen cursed inwardly Rommel, and all his descent for seven generations, but even that didn't console him.

They kept going like that for several hours. Tom had lost notion of time, and as they could not see the sun, would have been unable to say whether it was day or night, even if he hadn't kept his eyes closed. He abstractedly wondered where they were. He had tried questioning Rommel some time ago, but had been unable to speak loud enough for the other wizard to grasp the meaning of his words, and he did not master his occlumency well enough to try it in such circumstances - not mentionning that if he was caught by Rommel, the consequences shall be most dire - so he had given up. He was bored.

Some more time passed. He was still bored.

What felt like an eternity later, he was bored enough to start counting sheeps. The storm seemed to be more or less declining, but at that stage it was hard to say. But, suddenly, the teen became aware of the decreasing of their speed. He tried to see what was going on, but he relinquished the idea and closed his eyes tight again when a gust of abrasive wind swept his face.

Fortunately, the storm had really been decreasing in strength, and after some time it stopped totally. All of a sudden, there was no wind at all, and a strange silence filled the desert. Tom opened his eyes, and had to refrain from laughing. They all looked like sandmen. On the frontseat, Rommel unknotted the piece of linen he had taken to protect his mouth, and coughed some sand away, before taking away his goggles.

"Well", he said in a hoarse voice, "seems like we're through. How's the car, major ?"

"I didn't think it would hold that long", Merhoff replied after freeing his mouth from the pieces of clothes protecting it. "I think the sand is obstructing the engine. It was not made to resist a storm."

"Oh, that's just _great_", Saintclair sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Rommel hushed him up with a stern glare.

"Can we keep going ?" he queried quietly.

"I believe so", the major nodded, "but I don't know for how long. Where are we, sir ?"

The Feldmarschal wiped the sand off of his map, and pointed at the location they supposedly were. Tom leant forward to have a look at it ; as he was on the middle of the backseat, it made the move easier.

"So, we succeeded", he stated in disbelief. "I didn't think we'd make it."

"Yes, I noticed you're a very negative person", the older wizard grinned. "We should go now, and see how far this car will take us."

Tom rolled over and looked behind them. He frowned, and looked a second time, but there was no hint of any other vehicle.

"Uh oh", the teen said.

Hearing that, Rommel turned round, and when he saw the absence of the trucks and other staff car, he closed his eyes in dismay. He was not really surprised, in such a storm, when they could see nothing, it would have been a miracle if they had not been separated. Yet, he couldn't say that filled him with joy, and he felt somewhat guilty not to have noticed it earlier. But he had been so relieved to see the end of the storm, and worried about the engines of the car... Ah, well, dwelling on it, or moping, wouldn't help.

"What do we do, sir ?" Merhoff asked. "Do we try to find them ?"

"Are you nuts ?" Von Arnim stepped in for the first time, with his usual subtility. "We had enough trouble getting here, going back is sheer madness !"

He exchanged a glare with the major, who couldn't say anything to a man who was his superior (which was not really a problem, his eyes being very eloquent) and Tom remembered that Aldinger was in the other car. No doubt Merhoff was worried about him, and Rommel as well, though he couldn't read anything on the other wizard's face.

"That's right", Saintclair approved even though no one had asked for his opinion, "we shouldn't going back. Even going in the first place was suicide !"

Both the major and the general stopped their eye wrestling to look daggers at the Allied officer. Well, it was time they agreed on something.

"General Von Arnim is right", Rommel stated quietly. "We can't go back. The car is in no shape, and we'd lack fuel. Besides, we would probably miss them. They can be anywhere, if they got lost. The only reasonable thing to do is to get back to our main Headquarters. There, we will be able to look for them if need be."

Neither Merhoff nor Von Arnim could say anything without appearing like they were discussing their orders, but they kept glaring at each other in a most scary way for the remainder of the road.


	20. For God's Sake, Just Do It

**A/N** : When I see what I'm doing to Rowling's characters, I'm glad I didn't write the HP books. Would have been a flop.

* * *

_March 1944 - Bir-Hakeim - German main Headquarters_

When they arrived at Bir-Hakeim, Rommel and his group had the pleasant surprise of finding Aldinger waiting for them. The captain and the other groups had arrived earlier, because their cars, for some reason or twist of fate, didn't break down as had Rommel's. Indeed, the three Germans, the prisonner and Tom had eventually found themselves without transportation, as their staff car passed away with a most mechanical last breath, its engine moaning in death throes.

Fortunately, by the time it happened, they had almost reached out Bir-Hakeim. The only one who had not seemed actually thrilled that they arrived safe and sound was Saintclair, who, one had to be fair, had a good reason for it - though dying in the desert was hardly a destiny one would prefer to being sent to a prisoner of war camp. However, the prisoner did seem happy to see Aldinger alive, but it was undoubtedly more because he knew that probably meant his men were alive too than because he actually cared for the man. Tom couldn't blame him, he didn't like Aldinger either. But now, he disliked most of the Germans he had met. Yet, that didn't mean anything, he hated most of the British he had met as well. He was not a very social person, and he liked it that way. Hatred, fear and respect were the kind of relationships he was used to, the kind of relationships he felt safe having, because there was no surprise, no lies, no false promises. No implications from him. And, most of all, that way no one asked him to give something he couldn't.

Aldinger was there to meet Rommel at the gates of headquarters, and his face lit up with relief. Judging from his appearance, Tom could say he must not have had much sleep since he had arrived there, and he had barely changed clothes. Which was a luxury the teen was looking forward to.

"Sir !" the captain managed to enunciate, stammering with excitement - too much caffeine was bad for one's nerves - "I'm very glad to see you made it back. When we realized, after the storm, that we had lost you..."

Protocols prevented him from saying more, and it was a good thing as far as Rommel could say from the embarrassed look on the captain's face. But now, he could imagine how difficult it would have been for his subordinate to explain that to Berlin. "Apologies for losing the man in charge of all Axis forces" didn't quite make it. The Feldmarschal raised a weary hand.

"At ease, captain", he sighed. "I must say we have been quite worried about you and the rest of our group too. I'd like you to arrange for lieutenant Saintclair to be taken to whatever facilities we've got here in Bir-Hakeim. And make sure he's given water and food, we're not barbarians. Then we shall have a meeting with all my staff, in twelve hours. Can you take care of that ?"

"Of course sir", Aldinger nodded enthusiastically. "have no worries."

"I don't", came the terse reply. "General, major, I trust you will want to get some rest. At any rate, that's what I intend to do. I shall see you in twelve hours ; dismissed."

The three officers saluted, clicking their heels, and then headed in three different direction, the first with Saintclair, the two last to their quarters, leaving Rommel and Tom alone together.

"If you don't mind, I think I'm gonna get some rest too", the teen said, his eyelids dropping in exhaustion.

"Uh-uh", the other wizard nodded, not in a better shape himself.

Things had not been easy of late, Tom thought as he went to the stairs, and fortunately he had stayed long enough in the main headquarters to find his way even in his current state, because if he had got lost, he felt like he could have just dropped dead on the floor. Well, maybe not exactly dead, but sound asleep most certainly. Behind him, he heard a subdued cough. Right, Rommel looked awful, so whatever illness he had, it was probably getting the best of him. He got what he deserved. The stubborn man would not give up and leave Libya.

The first hints that something wasn't quite right was when, twelve hours later, the Feldmarschal didn't attend to the meeting he had asked for. Tom, who had not been invited, or rather, had invited himself, (and none of the Germans dared to drive him along as he seemed to be close to their commander in chief and trusted by him), saw the worry grow and display on the officers's faces. They patiently waited, but they all knew Rommel was adamant about punctuality, and though he was lenient on others, made a point on being himself on time.

After a quarter of hour, they gave up pretending to chat pleasantly with each other. After twenty minutes, they started to throw one another uneasy looks. After half an hour, they began to get restless on their seats. Eventually, Aldinger rose, and as Rommel's aide, though with some awkwardness, announced he would go and see what kept the Feldmarschal away from the meeting. Tom, faithful to his uncanny ability to bother people in general and the captain in particular - at least from the man's point of view - followed him, pretending he didn't see Merhoff's glare.

He was somewhat relieved to leave the meeting room, where the tension had rose in a noticeable way, and could probably be cut with a knife. A knife that could also cut the teen if that bunch of generals ever discovered he was actually a spy.

The captain and him finally reached Rommel's private quarters, and Aldinger knocked softly at the door, then waited for a moment. There was no answer. A little worried now, the german tried again, though without any more result. Now disturbed enough to adress someone he usually tried to ignore as much as possible, he turned towards Tom.

"Do you know if he is here ?" he queried , ill at ease.

"No clue", Tom shrugged off-handedly.

He was not really worried. He, contrary to the German staff officer, knew that Rommel was a wizard, and therefore had little to fear from a muggle. But, now, if Himmler had been tipped about the Feldmarschal's links with the Allies... No. If that had been the case, he'd have found out about Tom too. Still, there was that doubt nagging him...

Aldinger was in a dilemma, but he knew he could not go back to the meeting without Rommel. Biting his lips, he reached for the door-handle, then removed his hand, then reached again for the door.

"Oh, for god's sake, just do it", Tom grunted. "That's not a holy shrine."

The captain glared at him, but complied silently. The door opened without a struggle, and the two men had a look round the German wizard's quarters. The room was plunged in darkness, and they needed some time to find their feet. Then Aldinger switched the light on.

Given the lack of space, each officer had only a room as his quarters, and though he was the highest ranking, Rommel had not taken advantage of it to get larger quarters - a mistake, from Tom's point of view, but well... Therefore, he was there, in the dim light, lying down on the bed, sound asleep. For a moment, there was no sound at all, then a snigger got away from Tom's lips.

"Ha ! The military genius forgot to set his alarm clock !" he choked with laughter. The Feldmarschal would hear about that for the rest of his life, the teen jubilated.

"Shut up !" Aldinger hushed him up with an angry scowl. "You're gonna wake him up."

"Well, don't you want him for the meeting ?" Tom shrugged.

"I don't know..." the captain hesitated.

"He'll be mad at you if you don't rouse him", the young wizard predicted with a smirk.

Aldinger reached for Rommel's shoulder, in order to shake him awake, but then he suspended his move, still undecided.

"He doesn't look good", he observed uneasily. "Maybe I should call for a doctor..."

"He won't be mad at you, if you call for Horster", Tom yawned.

"He won't ?" Aldinger repeated in surprise.

"Nah. He'll be utterly irate and throw you one of his trademark scathing glares. But if you're willing to take the risk, please, go ahead..." the teen approached the bed were his fellow wizard was lying, still motionless, pale and breathing heavily, and he frowned slightly. "He really doesn't look good", he had to admit. "Maybe you should take the risk."

"But what will I tell his staff officers ?" the captain queried in dismay.

He must really be worried, Tom mused, because he wasn't that daft, usually. But now, maybe there was an occasion to have some fun...

"Let me handle his staff officers", the teen offered, "and go fetch Horster."

"You ?" Aldinger cast him a dubious glance. "You're not even military."

"Maybe not, but I'm his _nephew_, remember ?" the young man smirked. "But if you'd rather take care of the staff officers while I go fetch Horster..."

"No", the captain cut him hastily, probably thinking that it would do no good to his career to give no answer when the brass would want to know what was going on. "But don't tell them anything about..."

"Who do you think I am ?" Tom said in an insulted tone.

Aldinger snorted, but didn't answer and strode out of the room. Tom allowed a boyish grin to twist his lips as he made his way back to the meeting. He would immensely enjoy dismissing all these officers who had looked down at him ever since they had met, of that he was certain. He kept however his face completely blank when he entered the room, and as everyone turned their heads to look at him. He enjoyed the feeling of his own importance, as they were hung at his lips, but let show none of it. When he saw one of them about to say something, he walked to the end of the table and looked hard at them.

"The meeting is postponed", he said in a voice much deeper than usual. "You shall get back to your duties."

Some confusion followed, and the teen felt the moment he would lose control of the situation. Well, he had always been a rather good liar, and now was the right time to prove it.

"Some new intel was brought to the Feldmarschal's attention, and he needs to consider it. He will undoubtedly summon you for another meeting shortly. Meanwhile, there is nothing you can do."

Heck, he was good at it. They believed each word he said - why shouldn't they ? He had left with Aldinger, a man whose loyalty was well known, and if Rommel himself trusted him... even though he was - probably - Gestapo. At any rate, he was undoubtedly as unfriendly as any Gestapo officer. At such a young age, it was strange, but not unheard of ; maybe he had attended to one of the Adolf Hitler Schule, and had graduated at age eighteen for a position of responsibilities. That was the best guess of most of the officers who had met him.

One of the generals gave the signal of the end of the meeting by leaving. He was quickly followed by the other officers, and in no time the room was cleared. Tom sighed contentedly, and then headed back to his fellow wizard's quarters.

Horster had arrived while he was out, and kneeling beside Rommel he was having a look at him. The British wizard recognized at once the man's brown greying hair, his large forehead and his vivid dark eyes, but he focused on the subject of his well hidden worries, the short blond man lying on this uncomfortable-looking bed. The teen was surprised that all this commotion had not awaken him, as his sleep was usually light.

"What's the matter ?" he enquired while approaching.

The doctor cast him one of his sharp glances, while Aldinger seemed rather annoyed. He probably had hoped the teen wouldn't come back. Ha, too bad for him.

"He means him no harm, Friedrich", Horster said quietly.

Tom wondered for a second who in the world was Friedrich, before realizing the doctor was talking to Aldinger. He cast the man a smug look ; the information had not been lost on deaf ears.

"You sure ?" the captain looked doubtful, but he had learned over the time to trust that kind of insights from the lieutenant-colonel. He had a sixth sense for these things. Horster's insurance was the only thing that kept him from throwing the Gestapo boy out.

"By the way, I took care of the meeting, we should not be disturbed", Tom added idly. "So, what about my _uncle _?"

"I warned him", Horster shrugged. "He wouldn't listen."

The doctor did not add that his commander in chief was the most obstinate man he had ever met, and stupidly reckless at that, but everyone heard it anyway.

"I could tell you the name of his illness, but I doubt that would make any sense to you... -- okay, I will.", the colonel went on when he saw Aldinger's glare match Tom's. "He's got a phtisis."

There was a silence, then...

"A what ?" the teen blurted out.

Horster had a shrug that clearly meant "told you so".

"I won't go into the details", he said. "But I can tell you the Feldmarschal needs a real hospital, with specific medicines... that is, if anyone manages to convince him ; I sorta gave up. But he won't find the care he needs in Africa."

"If they knew, in Berlin..." Aldinger started. "I could..."

"You know he would consider that as a treason", the doctor warned him.

"_He _is betraying _us_", the captain retorted. "If he dares to die on us..."

Horster cast him an amused look, but kept silent.

"What shall we do know ?" Tom queried.

"Wait for him to wake up", the doctor shrugged. "Shouldn't be too long if he's been like that for twelve hours already. But I have nothing here that would do him good, barring aspirin."

As a matter of fact, Rommel woke up about five hours later. He raised his head dizzily, and saw Tom busy reading a book, while Aldinger and Horster chatted quietly, seated on two chairs nearby the bed. Understandably surprised at this invasion of his privacy, the German struggled to sit on the bed.

"What is the meaning of this ?" he asked the intruders sharply.

"I am glad to see you are awake, sir", Horster said politely, but not in the least intimidated. He was used to his difficult patient's moods, and knew he wouldn't be court-martialled for telling him the truth, no matter how unpleasant it was.

"Horster !" Rommel cut him dryly, with a most irate look.

The fact that he did not use the doctor's rank showed his annoyance. Though he was used to calling his closest officers only by their names, his tone showed clearly the difference between a long-standing familiarity and a surge of anger that would make his voice as sharp as a razor.

"You did not wake up in time for the meeting", Horster retorted sternly, in a tone of voice Aldinger would never have dared using. "Turns out you're in a terrible shape. As I brought to your attention _countless _times."

"I overslept", Rommel pointed out dryly. "That's nothing to be so alarmed of, especially after our little trip through a sandstorm."

"With all due respect, sir, I'm the doctor here", Horster replied bluntly. "I can recognize the symptoms when I see them. Fever, slight difficulties to breath, exhaustion, not to mention shaking hands - do I need to go on the list ?"

The high-ranking wizard cast a scathing glare at the man, and for a second Tom thought Horster was going to be put back in his place. But then, Rommel's features slackened, and he let out a quiet laugh.

"I deserved that, didn't I ?" he didn't wait for an answer. "That's all right, I know what you're trying to tell me."

"And if I may speak freely, sir, I know what you are going to tell me", Horster said, his eyes steely. "And you won't listen to me, as usual."

"Watch it, colonel", Aldinger hissed behind the doctor. "Don't forget who you're talking to."

Rommel said nothing, as he crossed Horster's glare. Then he heave out a weary sigh, and leaned back on his pillow. Seeing him in such a state, Horster looked a little embarrassed to have spoken so disrespectfully, though the annoyance he felt for his difficult patient was visible on his face as well. He also knew that he would not have gotten away like that with any other commander ; but Rommel's way of handling things was most unusual. Some officers had trouble dealing with that, like von Arnim, but it was also what made his so unorthodox schemes and tactics efficient and unpredictable.

When the Feldmarschal finally spoke, it was in a resigned voice.

"I will go back to Berlin and talk to the Führer about the state of things in Africa. Maybe, if I speak directly to him, I will be able to convince him that..." he abruptly fell silent, then resumed "At any rate, there is little more I can do."

Yet, he still felt like a rat fleeing from a sinking ship, leaving his command, his responsibility... his men, when they most needed him, when things went really bad. But he'd rather die than let it appear on his face. If only he could convince Grindelwald that he had to recall his troops as long as he still had troops to recall... or if only his men could hold long enough for him to get rid of that insane and delusional wizard that dared to call himself a Führer... But "what ifs" led nowhere, he already knew that - had learnt it the hard way.

"Aldinger, contact Berlin and inform them of the situation, I expect they will order me back at once. You will have my plane prepared at once and tell my staff officers to gather in the meeting room, I shall tell them of my departure. You come with me to Berlin. Horster, I leave that to you ; come or stay, as you prefer. Tom, get ready."

The younger wizard, who had closed his book while listening to the conversation, had to hide his surprise. It was the first time Rommel ever called him by his first name. But they were in front of the two German officers, and the Feldmarschal could not really call his favourite nephew by his last name in front of them without more or less blowing his cover.

"I will stay", the doctor said. "There are many men here who will need me."

Horster's face betrayed none of his inner thoughts, but Rommel knew he was afraid - who wouldn't be, when the Allied troops drew each day a little closer ? And he had to fight the distinct feeling that, if he didn't manage to convince Grindelwald or to overthrow him at very short notice, he would never see this man, who he had come to consider a friend, again.

* * *

**Ending Note** : I'm trying not to make Rommel too perfect, 'cause I know just how irritating perfect people are. So, he's stubborn, sometimes arrogant in his recklessness, and has a tendency to think he's always right and that his schemes are always going to work. Right, most of the time they do. But when they don't, he ends up in trouble. That's quite fun writing, and you've not seen the half of it... uhuhuh. He's a dedicated man - maybe a little too much. Besides, he's on the losing side. If anyone tells me he's too perfect, after that... But feel free to do so, you know where the reviews button is... (Ha, yeah, _so _subtle of me...) 


	21. Welcome Back

**A/N** : Do I look like the richest British woman nowadays ? No ? Then you know that I did not write the HP books and that none of this stuff belong to me, but to JKR, many thanks to her for the dreams she gave us.

* * *

_March 1944 - Germany - Berlin_

When he finally set foot in Germany, one feeling struck Tom violently, and overwhelmed his ability to think normally. Heck this country was _cold _! They were supposed to be in march, but he felt as if they were really in the middle of the winter. Tom usually liked the winter - he was born during the winter - but only when he was wearing something else than a mere shirt, with his arms bare. He started to shiver.

"I should have thought of bringing warm clothes", Rommel muttered behind him in a disgusted voice. "Each time I come back home, it's the same thing."

The German wizard suppressed a cough ; though it had not been so visible before, his condition had notably worsened. He was good at hiding it, whoch was the reason why Tom had not realized the seriousness of his illness before, but now he had reached his limits.

Aldinger went down from the plane right after his superior officer, and visibly refrain a trembling as well. A smile twisted Tom's lips. At least, he wasn't the only one to suffer. It was a poor consolation, but a consolation still.

"At least, the journey was quiet enough", the Feldmarschal added. "Once, when I was going to Africa for the first or second time, my plane was shot on sight by the Italians - they were not familiar with the model of the plane and thought it was an Allied one. And I could not even retaliate, after all we were on the same side."

"If I had been in your shoes, I would have", Tom groaned, rolling his eyes. "What happened when you landed ?"

"You should have seen their faces when they realized who they had fired on", Rommel smirked.

Tom glanced around him, and noticed a car approaching them. Seemed like the greeting party was coming, right on time. There was not a very good atmosphere in Berlin, judging from the look on the officer driving the car's face. That was understandable, since from what the teen had been told by Rommel, the new had not been very good of late on either front.

The staff car stopped a few meters away from them, and the officer got out of the car and moved near, before clicking his heels and saluting in front of Rommel, who returned the salute. Now, Tom could see the newcomer's insignias. Ah, a major, not too bad. Hopefully, he wouldn't be as annoying as Merhoff. But now, that was a ridiculous thought ; no one could be as much of a suspicious bastard as the officer they had left, to Tom's relief, in Libya.

"Sir, I'm major Krantz", the officer introduced himself. "I was sent to greet you and take you to the Führer. He is most eager to hear your report."

"Of course", the german wizard nodded, remaining dispassionate though this kind of meeting, when one had bad news to report, rarely ended well.

Not to mention Rommel's flagrant disobedience when he had failed to carry out Grindelwald's orders to "fight to the last". No, the future did not present well for the Feldmarschal. The man must be crazy to show such offhandedness when confronted to such a danger. Or maybe he was merely very good at hiding his inner thoughts. In any case, Tom was happy not to be him.

They climbed in the car, Krantz opening the door to the Feldmarschal as a mark of respect, and then started up to Hitler's headquarters. Tom could not fail to notice his fellow wizard had kept from introducing him and Aldinger to this major. He probably wanted to avoid drawing attention to his "nephew" as much as possible, though the teen was confident he had one or two good lies in store if anyone started asking questions. Yet, for the time being, it would be more prudent to pretend he didn't exist. It was not really to the liking of Tom, but he knew when to yield ground and when to stand to his positions - one thing he had learnt in this desert.

The route was not too long, little more than half an hour, and the young wizard took advantage of the situation to enjoy this little tour of Berlin. It was the first time he went there ; actually, when he had been to Africa, it was the first time he left Great Britain at all. He had started to learn to speak German after the beginning of the war, with the thought it could come in handy, and it had not been too hard with a little magical help, but he had never before had the occasion to put it into practice. Well, now was as good a time as any.

They finally arrived in front of a gate, framed with two swastika flags. Krantz stopped the car and went out, followed by his three guests, and they entered an impressive hall, crowded with people, either officials, military or quilldrivers. Their entrance went relatively unnoticed, but a few people stared at them and gaped when they saw the short blond man's insignias. Tom smirked, knowing that his fellow wizard disliked being the center of attention. He himself rather enjoyed it, but his turn would come in due time. For now, he would content himself with what he had and keep lurking in the shadows. He did not want his promising carreer be put to a sudden end by an irate Grindelwald.

Krantz talked for a few minutes with a desk clerk, then came back to them with an amiable smile.

"The Führer shall receive you at once, if you will follow me..."

The blond wizard turned toward Tom and Aldinger with a kinda wry smile.

"I think it would be better if you two waited here for my return."

The teen saw the captain bite his lips to refrain from discuting what was unquestionably an order, though it sounded like a request.

"Of course sir", Aldinger nodded. "We'll wait."

His tone of voice showed clearly that he did not intend to leave the building without his superior officer, even if he had to wait for three weeks or three years. That teared a tired smile from Rommel.

"I appreciate it, captain."

He followed Krantz away from them, and Tom couldn't help but wonder if he would see him coming back.

Rommel strode alongside the major, keeping silent ; the only noise was of their boots on the polished wooden floor. He almost asked Krantz what was the mood of Grindelwald, but caught himself on time ; his pride prevented him from caring about such matters. He would take the insane wizard as he was, and never mind if the Führer wasn't happy. After all, the man could not say he had not wanted the war. And now, the responsibility - and the guilt - was his. That is, if he was man enough to take charge. Did he even care ?

They finally arrived in front of a door guarded by two soldiers, as Aryan as one could have wished for, which the two officers ignored as if they were part of the furnishings, and Krantz carefully knocked at the door, then opened it and announced the Feldmarschal before backing one step and asking Rommel in. The wizard complied, and found himself faced with the most feared wizard of that time.

A hand behind his back as he used to, the other on his stomach in a kind of Napoleonian manner, though he reached nowhere near the greatness of Napoleon, the Führer welcomed his Feldmarschal with a fatherly smile. It did not make Rommel feel safer, though, for the shifting moods of the insane wizard were well known and feared among his staff. A smile could hide a backstab, as well as a remonstrance could end up in congratulations. The man was, at the same time, unpredictable and easy to anticipate in a larger scale. But Rommel had to withhold a spurt when he saw that Himmler, Goering and Goebbels were there as well. Obviously, everyone wanted to hear his report. The most dangerous of the three, magically speaking, was Himmler, though Goebbels and his cunning mind could be way more nasty, and subversive. As for Goering, he had once been a good soldier and, in a way, a man of honor ; but the bitterness and hatred had taken the better of him, especially after the failure of September 9th 1923, when, injured, he had left his country and hidden to lick his wounds. From what Rommel had been told, he had never been the same after that, and his heroin addiction did not account for all of it. He was maniac about his appearance, changing uniforms five or six times a day. Maybe he felt somewhat stained ; God knew how very stained he was. But Rommel pitied the man as much as he despised him. Yet, he could of course show none of it. He clicked his heels and saluted smartly the four men. Only wizards, that meant they could speak freely about magic.

"Welcome back, Feldmarschal", Grindelwald said kindly. "Please, have a seat ; I gather your have been better."

The blond wizard complied after murmuring a few words of thanks ; the pleasant attitude of the Führer worried him a little, as he knew it never lasted for a very long time. He glanced at the other officials, but they let show little of their feelings. Goebbels was the most unreadable ; Goering looked rather unconcerned, and Himmler eyed him like a wolf ready to jump on its prey. Well, he knew Goebbels had always wanted to join up in the army, and had never been able to because of his club foot, but it was difficult to know if the man held a grudge against the military because of that, or still wanted to enlist, knowing that he never could. He had the strongest occlumens shield ever ; Rommel's talent at legilimency was rather random, but strong enough for him to realize at least that. However, his natural occlumency protections seemed to hinder all the more his legilimency abilities, and he knew he would never be a great legilimens. When he focused hard enough, he could have a hint at someone's outer thoughts, and detect a lie if it was too blatant, but little more. It was worth his occlumens shieds, though ; without them, he would have been long dead.

"So", Grindelwald went on casually, "I received rather concerning news about Africa, lately. You did not accustom me to such... failures. I would like to hear your report."

Now, Rommel could feel the sharp edge of the words, and he tensed slightly before trying to conceal his reaction. Failure ; this word was dangerous, especially in the Dark Lord's mouth. Maybe even more in Goebbels', but fortunately the propaganda minister kept silent - for the moment.

Until now, Rommel's status as Grindelwald's favourite general, owing to his many victories, had offered him an effective protection. The worsening of the situation in Africa left him much more vulnerable, if the Führer was _displeased _with him. It would mean that his numerous ennemies (some of them he had never even met but were merely jealous, or disdainful of his "stupid chivalry that had not its place in a war", to quote them) would take advantage of the situation to slander him.

"Yes, _mein Führer_", the blond wizard nodded obediently - as if he had a choice...

He started to account for the events in Africa, in a neutral and cold voice, trying to remain as objective as possible, and most of all to keep his inner thoughts secret. Grindelwald did not need much to kill ; a shade of doubt, a hint of betrayal, or even giving the impression to be a defeatist was sometimes enough for him to call a firing squad. Many already had payed the price of straightforwardness with their lives.

Yet, he couldn't help but tense slightly when he talked about the retreat to Halam Alfa, and then back to Bir-Hakeim. Losing Alam Halfa was a major blow to the front, as this outpost left the way open for further progress by the Allies. Rommel did not fail to mention the problem he had had to face because of the lack of supplies, and the lack of cooperation from von Kesselring. he even hinted at the lack of cooperation from the Luftwaffe, but refrained from dwelling too heavily on it ; it would be suicidal to look like he was criticizing the Führer. But he knew perfectly well that the insane leader of Germany had never cared much for the Africa front ; for him, it was merely a way to enhance morale amongst his troops, but his main concern was the _drang nach osten_, namely the Russian front, also nicknamed the slaughter front by many officers.

Once he was finished, there was a silence ; Grindelwald looked thoughtful, and none of his three lieutenants would have dared to speak before him. The blond wizard tried to keep his breath steady ; his fate could be sealed with a fit of temper from the Führer.

"This defeat is annoying", Grindelwald finally said in an almost reasonable tone of voice. "What do you think, Feldmarschal ? Can Africa still be saved ?"

"No", Rommel answered without an hesitation, though he knew his reaction could be considered of a defeatist and be his death-warrant. "Unless I am given more troops, there is no way we can stop the Allies. And, if I may, _mein Führer_... ?"

The Dark Lord allowed him to talk with a wave of his hand, his dark blue eyes narrowed to a slit.

"I believe that, given the situation, keeping our troops in Africa is a complete waste. It would be better to call them back and send them where they can be useful, rather than let them die in a hopeless situation."

True, the blond wizard was against Grindelwald, and wanted to see him lose the war ; therefore, maybe he should have given him bad advises. But he couldn't let his men die meaninglessly. He owed them that much. No, he owed them so much more, and there was so little he could do for them... But he kept his face harsh, his voice cold, and let show none of his feelings. He shouldn't feel guilty. He _didn't _feel guilty. Or did he ?

"Hmm", Grindelwald muttered, as he started pacing, clenching and unclenching mechanically his right hand. "No, I have talked about it with my military advisors. The situation may be lost in Africa, but as long as it draws supplies and men from the Allies, it is worth it. Besides, maybe everything is not lost. The courage and self-sacrifice of the German people can certainly overcome these little difficulties."

_Little difficulties _? Rommel fought not to react at such an outrage. He knew it was to be expected ; what else could come from a man who ordered his men to "fight to the last" ? It did not make it any easier to cope with. The blond wizard suddenly felt nauseous, and it could not be all put on account of his exhaustion and illness.

"My Seers are downright ; keeping these troops in Africa will be vital in our war-effort", Grindelwald went on.

His seers. The Feldmarschal had to hide his contempt at the word. He did not believe in such nonsense. The future was not decided ; sometimes, one could have a hint at what the future _might _be, but to base a strategy on such scarce and unreliable information...

"Yes, _mein Führer_", he managed to utter painfully.

He regretted he had not given the order, before his departure, to surrender. Had he done so, he was not certain his men would have obeyed ; but at least, he would have done everything in his power. Too late.

"I gather you have known about your illness for a long time", Goebbels suddenly said.

"I did", Rommel admitted ; there was little use denying it.

"Then why not inform us before ?" the short dark-haired man attacked.

"At that time, it was already difficult to contact Germany from Africa", the Feldmarschal replied in a steady voice, hoping his explanation would be accepted. "Besides, as long as it did not hinder my abilities to command, I felt it was not of such importance."

"That was not your place to decide about that", Goebbels pointed out in a stern voice, scrutinizing the short blond man that faced him.

"Enough. As I said, this situation is unfortunate, but in the end we shall prevail", the Dark Lord rambled. "I will need you, my dear Rommel, once you are looked after. I will inform you of my plans when you are in shape to take on another assignment."

The blond wizard was surprised at such kindness from Grindelwald ; it seemed like he was still in favor, after all. And Goering and Himmler had not said anything, which meant he was safe enough, even if Goebbels seemed to dislike and to be wary of him.

The Dark wizard's last words clearly meant the meeting was over, but there was another question...

"Does that mean I will not return to Africa ?"

"No, of course not. I will not waste your abilities there. As I said, I will tell you about it later. One more thing remains to be taken care of, though..."

All grounds and sanity seemed to vanish from the Dark Lord's voice, as he uttered the words. Rommel clenched his teeth silently ; he had expected such a shift of attitude from the man, but that did not make it easier to deal with, nor did it ease the grip of fear he felt. He did not consider himself weak because of his fear ; who in their right mind would not be, facing an infuriated Dark wizard ? So he fought to keep his face blank, and hoped it would be quickly over. He was feeling more and more nauseous at each passing moment.

Grindelwald did not use much the pain curses, except on his lowest ranking subordinates, people he did not deem important enough to waste time trying to find a personalized punishment ; he liked to torture people in more _refined _ways, as he called it, and though he did occasionally use the Unforgivables and other dark curses to punish people, he had other means of creating pain - not necessarily physical pain. With a smile, Himmler gave the blond wizard a small vial, which was glittering with a silvery light. A stream of memory, and not any memory... Rommel took the vial, his heart furiously beating, cold sweat running on his back. Whose death would this memory show ? Which one from his decreasing circle of friends would pay the price for his soldier's lives ?

"You shall remember what it costs to defy my orders. I will stand that kind of disobedience from no one, not even you. I don't care about the results : my desires are the one thing you are supposed to fulfill, no matter the cost. When I say fight to the last, IT MEANS FIGHT TO THE LAST !"

Grindelwald had shouted the last words, in a sudden spite of anger, almost spitting his fury to the face of his officer. Then, he suddenly calmed down, and said the last words almost quietly.

"This meeting is over. Give my regards to your wife and son."

Now, there was the hint of a warning in Grindelwald's words, a reminder that Rommel had not yet lost all of his loved ones, and they were vulnerable. Yet, the dark wizard had been surprisingly lenient ; Rommel was still in favor, but he would better not push it. The Feldmarschal nodded his understanding - as if he had any other choice... He saluted once again in the most perfect military way, and made his way back to Tom and Aldinger. Major Krantz had disappeared at some time during the debriefing, but fortunately, Rommel knew the place well enough not to get lost.

Tomorrow would be another day. But would there be a tomorrow for his men ?

That very moment, Rommel swore to himself, for the last time, that he would get rid of Grindelwald, or be killed in the process.


	22. A Courrier For You, Sir

**A/N **: Okay, so for the 22th time ; if you recognize it, it's not mine.

* * *

_May 1944 - Germany - Scheinacht Castle_

Rommel spent three weeks in an army hospital before being allowed to leave, at which point he was given a few days' leave for a complete recovery, and he climbed with relief in the staff car that had been sent to take him back home. Phtisis was one of the few diseases that had no real magical cure, which accounted for the long time it had taken him to get over it. But being left in a bed the whole day for these three weeks had been the height of boredom. The only thing he had been able to do was to watch that memory Himmler had given him. Maybe he should not have done it, but he had to at least know who.

And it had been as horrible as expected, yet the blond wizard could not help thinking he somehow deserved to witness that nightmare, since he had been, in some twisted and sickening though undirect way, responsible for it. But what made it even worse was that the stream of memory was more or less _improved_, so as to make him experience the feelings of the man the memories belonged to. Watching a friend of his being tortured and killed because of him was already agonizing, but when he had to feel the pleasure of the murderer... that was thoroughly disgusting.

Yet, if he was sincere with himself, he had to admit that, was he given the choice, he would still make the same decisions ; he knew what the consequences would be, yet he still had chosen to save his men. He had to cope with it, so he merely refused to think about it, not quite forgetting it, but putting it away until he was able to make this sacrifice worth it, by helping in the defeat of Grindelwald. He was helped in this regard by the fact that the war had now been raging for five years, and as a soldier he had seen many people die. After some time, one got used to it. It was sad to accept so much death as an everyday event, but there was no other choice in a battle. Only after there would be time to bury the dead and to mourn those who had fallen. Moreover, whoever had chosen the victim had been quite incompetent at it ; the man was an acquaintance, but not such a close friend. It did not make his death any less horrible, but it definitely made it easier for Rommel to deal with it. He had felt a little guilty at his relief that it wasn't someone closer to him, but it was not the time to dwell in self-pity.

Besides, Lucie and Manfred had been able to visit him after the first week, which had noticeable improved his mood. It had been almost a year since he had last seen his son, and the seven years old boy was growing at an incredible speed. He had taken at least five centimeters since the last year. He still did not seem to have a knack at math, unlike his father and much to his dismay, but given time...

Tom Riddle had been, as well as captain Aldinger, living at Scheinacht Castle - quite a pompous name for what was hardly more than a big house - and Lucie had not asked questions about that whole nephew affair... yet. According to the young British wizard, security had seriously tightened in Germany as the war went worse and worse for them on all fronts. It was of course impossible to Apparate from one country to another in war times, wards were set to prevent that ; Rommel had been able to only because of his rank, the wards having been set on his magical signature so as to allow his passage. Only the highest ranking wizards in the Third Reich had been granted that privilege. The chimney network was also controlled almost totally by the Gezaupo. The Feldmarschal had been able to use his on several occasions, but only thanks to temporary Deviation and Conceiling spells, not to mention that, being officially in Africa at the time, the Gezaupo had really no reason to keep his chimney under observation. Now that he was back, though, the matter was entirely different. Rommel now felt really grateful he had Tom with him, for if he needed to pass a really crucial information on to the Allies, he could send the teen by more unconventional ways - maybe even by broomstick, if he really was in a hurry. He himself had never been a very good flier, and did not even liked to fly, but maybe Riddle did, and anyway extremes situations called for extreme measures.

The staff car finally stopped in front of the doorway, and the short blond man got out of the vehicle with relief. At last, he was home ; maybe not for a very long time, but it still felt good to be there.

The door opened, and a small whirlwind made its way toward Rommel, who soon was strongly hugged by a brown-haired boy who had a big smile spread on his face.

"Manfred ! Don't exert your father !"

A young woman with long dark hair came out and adopted a scolding tone, though Rommel knew she did not really mean it. Manfred must somehow have known it too, for he did not seem to be about to obey.

"I guess I have to make up for all the hugs I did not get in the last months", the blond wizard said teasingly. "uuufff - still, I'd like to breath, Manfred !"

The boy finally released him, but kept hold of his hand. Lucie smiled, but she was way too reserved to hug her husband outside of the house. Still, her tenderness when she grabbed his other hand said everything there was to express. She was a wonderful wife, and Rommel had never regretted his marriage in the eight years they had spent together.

They entered the house, and the following hours were completely oblivious of dark wizards of any kind and such matters as wars. They avoided mentioning it as much as possible, as they usually did in these rare, blessed moments that saw them together.

Later, this evening, Tom felt he could safely leave his room. He had not wanted to get in the way, and he hated these kind of sloppy occasions and family gatherings of any kinds. Of course, he never had any. Yet, he couldn't help but be a little angry that his fellow wizard did not even ask for him when he had not seen him. As he had never cared for family lonks (or so he told himself) he couldn't fathom the idea that after nearly a year of separation, a man could want to spend time with his family only. His only consolation was that Aldinger was in the same situation as him, but it was really little consolation. Besides, the captain had been a friend of the family for a while, since he was Rommel's aide since almost the beginning of the wars, and he was much more at ease and used to make himself discreet when he was in his superior officer's home.

Later in the afternoon, Manfred had come to him. In Tom's opinion, the boy was an irritating, bothering thing, always sticking around him. The kid had indeed been told that Tom was his cousin, and therefore seemed to consider him as some kind of big brother, and he didn't let go of that obsession, no matter what the teen told him with growing exasperation. Whenever Tom read in the library (there wasn't a lot of things to do around apart from reading) the boy would come and interrupt him. Actually, Tom found the boy extremely annoying, even when he just kept silent and played quietly with his miniature tanks and panzers magically animated, pretending to be his father.

"You are just as boring as the other grown-ups", Manfred had complained once. "Weren't you ever a kid ?"

"No !" Tom had snapped impatiently.

And that was somehow true ; he had never considered himself a child. However, the boy did not seem about to give up on him - unfortunately, the wizard teen thought, not ready to admit, even to himself, that he was flattered by the boy's attention.

"If I bore you, why don't you just go bother someone else ?" the teen added.

"He is with Mother", Manfred shrugged. "I think they want some, uh... time together to talk and do adult stuff."

"Well, that's exactly what I want too, so..." Tom waved his hand dismissively - with little or no effect.

"Is that true that you defeated plenty of Allied soldiers and saved a lot of our officers ?" the boy queried with curiosity.

"Who told you that ?" the British teen frowned.

"Father said you were very brave, so you must have made lots of prisonners and stuff like that. Did you really receive the Iron Cross ?" excitation was audible in the seven years old voice.

"He said that ?" Tom half opened his mouth in surprise, then corrected himself ; of course Rommel had. After all, it was the truth. He felt pride at the deserved praise, and suddenly Manfred's presence did not seem so annoying any more ; he had managed to catch the young wizard's interest. "Yes, I received the Iron Cross", he even answered the boy's last question.

"Tell me how you got it", the kid pleaded.

Tom rolled his eyes, but he complied without needing a lot of persuading. The newfound adoration in the boy's eyes made him feel good, even though he reasonned with himself that looking good in the eyes of a mere kid was not really such a deed to be proud of.

He had thus spent several hours with the kid, and then, when Manfred had went downstairs to spend some more time with his father, he had resumed his reading about warfare and strategy. Not that he found the subject so fascinating, but it did seem a little less boring that advanced math books (did Rommel have any normal book ?). But, eventually, he came down for the dinner, and then stayed for a cup of tea, while Manfred, to his relief, was sent to bed - not without making a fuss. Captain Aldinger, who attended to all of the meals, tactfully offered to take him to bed, and with his usual discretion did not come back.

Lucie poured three cups of tea, offered some sugar and milk around, then she sat down, a cup in her hand, on the couch, near her husband. There was some silence before any of them spoke. Then, Lucie put down her cup, and with determined eyes stared at her husband.

"Now that Manfred is in bed, and we are certain we are not listened to, I think you owe me some explanations, Erwin."

Tom was really surprised to hear such demands from her. During his stay in Scheinacht Castle, she had appeared to him as a shy and mousy kind of woman, devoided of any real personnality. She had never asked him anything, in fact rarely adressed him at all. But now, he realized he did not know her at all ; he had been too quick to judge her. He would have to remember that harmless looking people were not always really innocuous...

The teen cast a glance at the Feldmarschal, and bit back a sneer. The man knew how to handle his subordinates, but he didn't know what to say to his wife...

"Lucie, I..." he started.

"And I will not tolerate any lie !" she warned him.

"I was not about to lie", he scowled. "And now, if I may finish my sentence... what exactly to you want to know ?"

"We don't have a nephew called Tom Ritter, as far as I know", she stated calmly. "And I checked. Although we are, actually, related to a Ritter family, we never were close to them."

And she would have checked, Tom thought with a fiendish grin. Of course, she had not asked him, knowing how likely he was to lie...

"You do realize, that the more you know, the more you will be in danger", Rommel said. It was not a lecture, at most a reminder.

"I will be in danger anyway", the young witch retorted, "because I am related to you, and therefore our fates are bounded. So I think I deserve to know at least _why_."

"You do", the blond wizard granted quietly. "I can't tell you the details, though. Is that acceptable for you ?"

"I don't want to know the details", she shrugged. "I want to know what is going on. And before you add even one word, Erwin, I think you should have talked to me before taking such decisions."

"Maybe I should have", the german wizard's face hardened slightly, "but I did not see you much lately, and it was my decision to take, even though it does involve you as my wife."

Lucie seemed to be about to argue, then thought better of it and clasped her mouth. She folded her arms and waited intently.

"All right", Rommel relented. "Tom is British. He doesn't have any family. I decided to take him with me."

Beautiful. Just _beautiful_, and he knew quite a lot about manipulation, Tom thought, eyeing the couple with glimmering eyes. Rommel had said nothing but the truth, yet he had said it so that his wife would unmistakeably reach the wrong conclusion. When she would realize just how he had tricked her... Ha ! she would be mad at him ! If she ever discovered it, of course.

But it was not so easy to trick her. At first she seemed sorry for Tom (much to his irritation) then merely suspicious.

"And you just decided to take care of a poor orphan, out of the goodness of your heart", she narrowed her eyes warningly. "Please, Erwin, don't play that kind of games with me. You are not telling me the truth. Or at least, not all of it."

Heck, Tom liked her style... no dwelling on a poor orphan, oh no... really, Rommel had a good taste.

"Right", the blond wizard admitted, slightly exasperated. "Not all of the truth. But I can't tell you more for now. The less you know, the safer."

"And when may I expect to be told the truth, full and whole ?" she did not look happy with it, though she realized that her husband was indeed right.

"I don't know", he looked at her, helplessly. "A few month, I hope. But I really can't be sure."

"Fine", she relented. "But don't try my patience, Erwin. I won't wait forever."

Tom looked at them, and wondered how a friendly, family talk could turn so quickly in a confrontation. They were both frowning at each other, neither of them happy with the situation. But, now that the discussion had more or less ended in a draw, they eased off a bit. There was an uncomfortable silence.

"So, Tom, how do you like Germany at this time of the year ?" Lucie finally asked, breaking the ice.

He smiled and decided to play nice. He had always been able to fool everyone with his acts... except maybe Dumbledore. But the woman wasn't Dumbledore, and he was confident he could earn her fondness and trust in no time. It might prove useful, after all.

After the first evening's incident, no further mention was made of Tom's situation. He was officially a friend and a blood relative, and no one asked further. Manfred must also have been thoroughly briefed by his mother, for he did not ask any question about Tom's family, like he did when they were first introduced. This easy life kept going for a few days, until his new orders were sent to the german wizard.

A young, Aryan-looking, military clad man, looking no more than twenty years, rang at the door, and saluted when the Feldmarschal opened the door.

"A courrier for you, sir."

Rommel dismissed the youngling and tore open the "top-secret" libelled letter, then read it with attention. His face betrayed a flicker of surprise, but nothing more, as he neared the last lines. Then, he folded back the letter in the envelope, thoughtfully.

"Are you leaving soon, Father ?" Manfred asked, jittering around as he played with Rommel's cap and Feldmarschal baton.

"Yes", the german wizard nodded.

"Where, where ?!"

"Well, I don't know if I can tell you", Rommel teased the seven years old. "You can read now, so you know what was written on the letter... it's top-secret."

"Pleaaaase !" the boy insisted. "I promise I won't tell anyone, not even captain Aldinger."

"What are you not going to tell me ?" the aforementioned entered the room at that same moment.

"I won't tell you where father is being sent", the kid replied with a big smile.

"Oh, you won't ?" the captain raised an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose I will know where I am once we get there..."

"Oh, I take it you would be able to recognize the Eiffel tower", Rommel chuckled.

"The Eiffel..." the captain looked surprise, then smiled. "Now that's nice, I always wanted to visit Paris."

"No drinking wine while on duty", Rommel teasingly warned him.

"Ha, you're taking all the fun out of it", Aldinger complained.

"Can I come with you, Father ?" Manfred pleaded.

"Of course not", Lucie cut him shortly. "Don't be silly, young man."

She did not look very happy, but even Tom could understand that it was not easy for her to see her husband leave so soon. They had hardly had a few days together, and already he was being sent hundreds of kilometers away. And with the new restrictions, he probably would not be able to come back during the week-ends, even with chimney powder.

"What are you going to do in France ?" Manfred insisted, his small face twisted in a pout at the idea of being once more left behind.

"Now _that _is really top-secret", the german wizard replied. "No, sulking won't make me change my mind. Aldinger, we are to leave in three days, I'd like you to make the necessary arrangements..."

He went on, giving instructions. Tom didn't listen to him. France... Now, that was a chance. They would be much closer to Great Britain, and much farther from Grindelwald - all the better. Besides, he had been given names and ways to contact the French underground, and that may be his chance. He would be able to send a report on the situation in England, and maybe he would receive further instructions...

The day just before their departure, Rommel was visited by some guy called Karl Strollin. Tom dimly remembered seeing him leaving the hospital while he, Lucie and Manfred arrived, which meant he had visited the Feldmarschal then too, yet Rommel had not spoken to Tom about it at all. Granted, they had not had much occasions to speak privately, but the teen somehow had a feeling it was important. The two men spoke together in Rommel's office for about an hour, then Strollin was taken back to the door. He looked hopeful, while the Feldmarschal on the other hand looked very unhappy. Tom promised himself to ask him about it the first time he got the occasion, but such opportunity did not present itself before their departure for France.

There was only the three of them ; Rommel, Tom and Aldinger. They had been given no escort, since the Feldmarschal had not requested any, and the road they were to follow was considered safe. And so they left, once again. Somehow, Tom had the feeling their stay in France would not be peaceful...


	23. Took You Five Years To Figure It Out

**A/N **: I hereby confess twisting this poor JKR's characters into something that only remotely reminds us of what there are supposed to be in the basic story... Needless to say, the aforementioned characters are not mine. I'll give them back in the same condition I borrowed them (or almost).

* * *

_June 1944 - Caen, France_

A tall, dark figure was wandering in the streets of Caen, seemingly aimlessly. Sometimes, the man, almost a boy as far as his face betrayed his age, turned his head and looked behind him to check on any possible follower. Then, satisfied, he would resume his walking, though sometimes he would also stop to verify the name of a street on the map he kept in his pocket. It was early in the evening, and not much people remained outside, which meant the teen was almost alone, as no one accompanied him. It served his purposes perfectly.

Tom had been in France for now over six weeks, but it was the first occasion he got to contact the underground. His being with Rommel meant he was, most of the time, in company of German officers, and that was not the kind of friends he would likely bring to a secret underground meeting. Besides, as the Feldmarschall's new orders were to inspect the German lines on the cost, they had stayed a lot in tiny fishermen villages, and Tom had no idea about their implication in the resistance. Thus, he had prefered not to take any risk, and had waited for the propitious moment. Which had come now.

Once again, he checked his position on the map. Yes, he should turn right, and then... ah, there it was. A shop sign indicated the name of the inn : the _Fisherboat_. The teen reached for the door and knocked loudly, before folding his arms and waiting. His high stature, though he was rather slender, gave him an intimidating aspect, and he knew it.

The door finally opened, and an average heighted man, with a receding hairline and greying hair, his face deeply wrinkled, poked his head outside. Tom was, as usual, dressed in civilian clothes, but his mere presence at this time of the day made him suspicious. And the man had some reasons to be distrustful of everyone, especially with the number of denunciations, anonymous or not, which were sent each day to the Germans. Not mentioning the informers the Gestapo had everywhere. The innkeeper was a muggle, knew nothing about magic, and no obliviation spell would ever save him if some funny business happened around him. Therefore, he did not exactly roll out the red carpet for the stranger that stood in front of him.

"_L'auberge est fermée_", he said in a surly voice.

"I think not", Tom replied coolly. "I'd like to taste your famous rainbow fish."

The man narrowed his eyes, as the teen gave him the ridiculous password. Tom had spoken in a subdued voice, after he had checked no one was close enough to hear him. His speaking english could be his death warrant, and was at best dangerous to use. Of course, he could always pretend he was trying to gather intel for his "uncle", but it would draw unwanted attention on him, and possibly endanger the French underground. But he did not speak french, though he was able to understand a few words.

"In that case", the inn owner drawled with a heavy French accent, "that's different. Please come in."

He too had spoken in english, and somehow, the way he behaved, with caution but relaxed gestures, so as to fool a possible spy, gave Tom the feeling he was used to that kind of business. That was quite possible, as the war had been lasting for now five years, but if the man had survived that long, then he was good.

The teen entered the room and followed the innkeeper in the back shop, where the elderly man motioned for him to take a seat. Tom complied, and nodded his head in thanks as the man brought him a drink. Then, the innkeeper seated himself in front of the British wizard and introduced himself.

"My name is Julien Nogaret."

For a second, Tom was half-tempted to present himself as Voldemort, but quickly discarded the idea. This name, that he had sometimes used in school but only with his closer comrades - not friends - he would keep for greater deeds and higher purposes. Until then, he would remain...

"Tom."

He did not feel safe enough to use a last name, either Riddle or Ritter. His first name would do. But, once again, he thought that he really loathed that stupid name. Tom. Three simple letters, not nearly as impressive as if he had been a Julius, or a Napoleon, or even, Merlin save him, an Albus. It was a muggle name, and nothing in it could inspire fear or awe. Yet, for now, an inconspicuous name was exactly what he needed, so he would assume and bear it a little while longer. Anyway, his name was none of the innkeeper's business.

_This innkeeper is risking his life to help you_, an inner voice nagged at the teen's mind.

_Yes, but only because I'm taking even greater risks to get rid of Grindelwald_, he answered himself. _He does not really have a choice. I did, when I decided to come here in the first place._

"Now, young man, I'd like you to tell me why you have come here", Nogaret's voice pulled Tom out of his thoughts.

"I need to contact London", Tom replied. "You have a radio, I suppose ?"

"Could have", the Frenchman answered in a stand-offish tone. "We avoid to use it too much, so we usually broadcast only once a month. It lessens our chances to be located by the Germans."

"Well, you will have to make a breach to your habits", the British wizard answered back arrogantly. "This is important."

His attitude seemed to displease the older man, who glared sternly at the teen. Tom was young enough to be his son, and he was not used to having younglings speak to him that way.

"If this is of such importance, why don't you carry the information yourself back in England ?" he scoffered crossly.

"I said important, not vital", Tom barked back. "But if you don't want to cooperate, then it's fine. After all, it is not my country which is occupied by ennemy troops. Why should I care whether the information is sent or not ?"

Actually, he did care, since he was risking his life to send whatever little information he had gathered thanks to Rommel on the location of German wizard squads and such. But Nogaret did not need to know that.

"We are all involved all the same in this war", the Frenchman said with hostility. "And your country might be next on the list, so back off, young man ! You should adress your elders with respect, or did your parents not teach you that ?"

"My parents are long dead", the teen retorted calmly.

He had learnt long ago to use that fact to embarrass people. It had been quite useful ; who would ever suspect this young, good-looking, studious orphan, to do evil things like, for instance, opening the Chamber of Secrets ? And, as he expected, a shade of remorse and abashment flashed on Nogaret's face. When he spoke, it was with much more self-control.

"My, I did not know that, my boy. Let's forget that little argument, and give me whatever information you want me to send."

Tom hesitated for a second, irritated to be adressed to as a child. He saw on the man's face that he still did not like him, and would rather get rid of him as quickly as possible, but as he had little choice, he gave the folded paper to the innkeeper, who took it and headed to the door which led to the basement.

"Wait for me here, kid."

The teen finished his drink and waited, though he was quickly bored. There was nothing in the small room, but papers, bottles of various drinks including wine and beer. Well, he was in France, after all. He somewhat regretted he had not just killed the annoying muggle and sent his message himself, but he had no idea how these muggle devices worked, and using a chimney would be sheer madness, as the Gezaupo kept a close watch on the network.

The innkeeper finally came back, about an half hour later, with a look of surprise on his face. He squinted at Tom with something like unease and wariness gleaming in his eyes.

"London seemed most interested in your information. But maybe even more in your name. I... ah, I have some things to... arrange for. When can you come back ?"

"Come back ?" Tom repeated with disbelief. "No return was ever mentioned. Coming once was dangerous enough as it is."

"It's a formal order. From a man known as... Dumple... Dumi... Dumby... ah, some kind of weird name like that."

"Dumbledore ?" Tom half rose from his seat. The old fool was a pain even when he wasn't there.

"That's it", Nogaret flapped his fingers. "He said it was very, very important, and that you should inform your friend too, the Dutch one. He said you would understand."

"I do, unfortunately", Tom muttered angrily.

It seemed like Dumbledore had made his homework, and pestered the Minister for Magic long enough for Cornwall to release the informations about Rommel. The blond wizard would not be pleased... but for now, it waas the least of the teen's worries.

"It is... never mind, boy, I'll explain everything when you come back and I've taken care of a few other things. I will need some time... three days. Come back in three days", the elder man hedged.

He suddenly seemed very agitated, almost afraid, though excitement outweighed in his nervous smile.

"I will try", the teen replied distantly. "But no promises. I had enough trouble coming here without arousing suspicion in the first place."

"You have to come back", Nogaret insisted.

But he refused flatly to give any further detail, and Tom had to reconcile himself to leave obediently, resisting the urge to curse the infuriating muggle. It would be unwise to do it, he knew, yet that did not make it easier to stand the man's reluctance to talk.

He got quickly back to the old castle where the Feldmarschal had set his headquarters, and overawe the sentries into letting him go to see his fellow wizard in his office, in spite of the high-ranking German's orders not to be disturbed. Of course these orders did not include Tom, but if Rommel had been kind enough to tell that to the sentry, it would still have been easier... oh, well, it had been fun enough to scare the young soldier.

"Dumbledore knows who you are", he announced to his friend after closing the door.

The blond wizard raised his head from the bunch of papers he was studying and signing, and he curved an eyebrow.

"He does ? Who told him ?"

The annoyance was clearly audible in his voice, and Tom saw his hand get tense on the muggle pen he held.

"Minister Cornwall, I suspect", the teen shrugged. "But, well, Dumbledore always had his own sources. Back in school, he always seemed to know what was going on before anyone else."

"Maybe, but in school people's live were not jeopardized because of his knowledge", Rommel commented acridly.

Tom could have raised a few details as an objection, like for instance evocating the basilic he had found fast asleep, hibernating in the Chamber, but he was wise enough to keep silent. He did not need anyone - not even the Feldmarschal, or maybe especially not him - to know about that. After all, knowledge was always a weapon.

When he reported the discussion he had had with the French innkeeper to Rommel, the short blond man did not seem any better informed than Tom himself. He did not have any idea what this whole commotion meant either, but they agreed it must be pretty big if Dumbledore was involved in it. They both knew that the powerful wizard was one of the spearhead of the Allies, on the wizard side, and his decisions weighed a lot in the war effort. It could mean only one thing ; if they succeeded in whatever the elder wizard wanted them to do, they would hit Grindelwald a blow.

Therefore, three days later Tom went to the meeting. Of course, Rommel could not come along ; not only would his absence be noticed, but even if he clad in civilian clothes, the risk was too high that he could be recognized. However, if the teen was not back within six hours, then the Feldmarschall would assume something had turned wrong, and would rescue him one way or another. To his own surprise, Tom trusted him enough to do that. He knew, without a shade of doubt, that his friend would come for him no matter what. It felt weird to have someone watch his back without a second thought on Tom's part, but in some way, it also felt good. Well, truth to be told, he did have second thoughts, but carefully buried them in the depest recess of his mind. That was not the kind of things he needed to focus on for now.

He arrived at the inn right after dinner, so he would have time to come back before curfew. He had a pass in any case, but he'd rather avoid to draw attention to him at that stage. With Grindelwald, they were walking on a thin edge, and they knew it.

At his knock, Nogaret opened the door and motioned for him to enter. As Tom complied, he noticed the lack of customers. But, because of the Germans, few dared to go out in the evening, especially when the penalty for being out at curfew, could be very harsh. The worse being a firing squad on account for possible sabotage activities. The measure was ruthlessly effective.

Quickly, the innkeeper urged Tom in the back shop. To the teen's surprised, they weren't alone there ; a third man soon appeared, lurking in the shadows. When he tolted his head to the side, the young wizard was able to see the light of the candles reflect on his light brown reddish hair. His eyes, of a dark hazel shade, remained laid on him. To his displeasure, Tom felt unease under the gaze of the man. Usually, it was the other way round, as he readily caught people off-guard with his bright green stare, which made him look older than he ought to be, and he got an instant dislike of the stranger.

"So this is the boy ?" the man's voice was higher-pitched than his build let it presume, and he spoke with a distinct British accent. Tom hated the condescendant tone he had adopted.

"Yes, captain, it is", Nogaret respectfully nodded. "Tom, meet captain Mark Harr..."

"I think the boy shall introduce himself", the British officer cut the innkeeper.

Tom adopted a deep frown and looked daggers at the man. He did not like his name - a muggle name, of all things ! - for one, and he did not deem it was the stranger's business. After all, it was not _he _who had requested this meeting.

"So ? Don't you know your own name, or do you have an actual reason to remain gaping at me like that ?" the captain asked mockingly, as the teen cast him a scathing glare. "Never mind. I have heard of you, Tom Riddle."

At once, the teen knew the man was a wizard. By no other means could he be aware of that information. Yet, it did not come as a surprise, since he had expected it. Maybe it was the subtle aura of power that originated from him, but he could definitely not be mistaken for a muggle.

"Well, you know my name. State yours" came the disdainful reply.

Tom saw the man's lips twitch visibly, though it lasted barely for a few seconds. Obviously, that Mark Something was not used to being talked in such a tone. He must be a pureblood, or an incredibly arrogant mudblood. Yet, honor required that the man introduced himself. Hiding his identity would be considered shameful, as it would mean he had something to fear.

"Mark Harrison", he said curtly.

"The captain landed here two weeks ago", Nogaret stepped in, seemingly unaware of the tension weighing between the two British. "And from what we know, you might be able to complete an important mission. You are here to be briefed."

"And just why would I accomplish this mission ? I do believe I'm already doing more that much people in this war", the teen said coldly, contempt gleaming in his eyes.

Harrison's fist slammed on the table, and he seemed to barely restrain a flare of anger. It was too easy to make him react. But that also made him dangerous, as he might act rashly, with no care for his own safety, if put in certain situations.

"You know nothing", he spat acridly. "You should consider yourself honored to have been chosen."

"Well I don't", Tom shot back, unwavering. "If you consider it such an honor, then do it yourself."

Rage seethed in Harrison's eyes, along with something that was close to hatred. The man relied a lot on his feelings and emotions. For someone who knew him well enough, it should be possible to play with him as if he were an instrument. A melody in _do_-mination major...

But the officer quickly regained control over himself, and contented himself with a sneer.

"If I could, I would certainly like to concur to hit Grindelwald a fatal blow", he hissed in a low voice, oblivious of the muggle who cast him a surprised and confused look. Hopefully, the filthy idiot would believe it was some kind of code name.

"A fatal blow ?" Tom repeated, his interest aroused.

"Willing to help, now, are you ?" Harrison jeered.

"Not really", the younger wizard lied smoothly. "But I'd like to hear more. Of course, if you don't want to... well, I spared some of my time for you in the first place, I wouldn't mind getting back to my own business."

It was all a flat lie, but Harrison had not really a choice and he knew it. The covetous look he cast the teen made something fit into place in Tom's mind.

_So that's it... that's why he seems to hate me even though he doesn't even know me..._

"Not that you deserve to take any part in this, but unfortunately, we will have to rely on you for this job", the captain snorted.

"Would you mind getting to the point ?" Tom asked in a counterfeit bored voice.

Harrison's eyes narrowed to burning slits, but he pursed his lips and drew a briefcase from under the table. Tom expected him to draw out papers of some kind, but the captain merely dropped the object on the table. There was an awkward pause, as Harrison kept silent, obviously waiting for Tom to ask him about the briefcase. The younger wizard decided to grant him this pleasure. After all, the British officer was fangless, in this whole affair, no matter his attitude.

"So ? Care to tell me what this is before I really fall asleep ?"

Harrison's disdainful glance spoke volumes about what low opinion he had of the teen's dreadful ignorance, but Tom pretended he did not see it.

"This", he announced in a hollow voice, obviously sparing the impression, "is a bomb. A very special bomb, made to measure in Great Britain, to match certain... requisites."

"I still don't see what it has to do with me", the younger wizard yawned.

"Insolent child !" the captain hissed. "If you get alive out of this, you will regret..."

He seemed at a loss for words, and the teen smirked. His jealousy reeked from the older man like an expensive perfume.

"This bomb has a target _even _you should guess without too much trouble", he pursued, regaining his composure.

What he hinted was so obvious, and at the same time so unbelievable that it took a moment for Tom to figure it out. When he did, his jaw almost dropped, though he caught himself on time.

"You don't mean..." Harrison's satisfied sneer when he saw he had, at last, managed to impress Tom, told him everything he needed to know. "And that's the _best _you came up with ? A bomb ? It took you five years to think of it ?"

Tom had an unnatural laugh. Not that the idea was so funny ; no way he would commit suicide trying to kill a great wizard with such a stupid muggle engine. The irony was too much for him.

"Shut up, you idiotic child !" the captain growled. "This is a unique occasion. Something he will not expect. But don't worry, we would not entrust such a delicate mission to you. I don't care what the minister says..."

So that was who that "we" was. What could Cornwall have said about him to Harrison ? Had they been in radio contact ? Tom suspected there was some implication from Dumbledore in this. This mugglely ridiculous plan could very well originate from the old fool's mudblood-loving mind. And he would definitely not be beyond sending Tom on that kind of missions...

_But he doesn't trust me. Why would he put such a delicate matter, no matter how fated to screw up, in my hands ? Unless he doesn't have a choice..._

"Unfortunately, time runs against us. You do not need to know more. Your instructions are simple ; you _should _be able to remember them without having to write them down", Harrison went on scofferingly. "You must give this briefcase to one Claus Schenck von Stauffenberg..."

"I did not say I accepted the mission yet", Tom hissed.

His parseltongue ability made that kind of noises in his mouth very unsettling for those who heard it. Harrison gazed at him blankly for a second before ignoring him.

"This man, a trusted general of Grindelwald, is currently in Germany. I don't know how you are supposed to get there, nor do I care. After all, you look like you are a big boy."

The mockery in his tone was painfully obvious, and Tom took in a sharp breath, trying to control himself.

_Keep your blood cold, just as a snake. And silent as a snake I shall be when I will strike back to him, one day... _Tom meddled inwardly the first and second person, but barely registered it as he stared into the depth of Harrison's hazel eyes.

"Fine", he finally said, his voice louder than he intended to. "I take it you will go back _safely _in England", he added with a pretanse of courtesy, but Harrison knew exactly what he meant. His face contorted in burning anger. Somehow, Tom knew that this man had never in his whole life practiced occlumency.

"Just make sure this briefcase reaches its destination" he said stiffly, in a voice cold enough to make all hell freeze.

They both had more or less dismissed the innkeeper from their minds, and he had not dared interrupt them. After all, this was likely to be some top-secret stuff, and therefore the less he would know, the better. Still, curiosity kept nagging at him, and he had avidly listened to each word they said.

"Erm, excuse me, but who is Grindelwald ?" he asked, and two scary glares turned toward him.

Tom left the inn silent as a shadow, and hugged the walls. It was now well past curfew, and he would better avoid being caught outside. The German soldiers might be keen on firing first and asking questions only after. But he had spent seven years in Hogwarts, and whenever he roamed in the corridors to go about his business, he had never been caught by the caretaker. Therefore, mere muggles had little chance to notice him.

After they had obliviated Nogaret (the one and only thing they had agreed upon since they had met) Tom and Harrison had coldly taken their leaves, each hoping the other would get caught by the Germans, and each knowing what the other had in mind. But unfortunately, they were still on the same side, and Tom felt he had enough on his plate as it was. He had thus let Harrison leave unscathed, however confident he could have taken him had he tried, but not without promising himself he would take care of the arrogant tone of the man sooner or later. He had many torments in mind for when that day would come. The mere existence of Harrison made the darkness boil in the teen's blood, and even now a crooked smile hovered on his lips, as he pictured the despisable man crawling at his feet, begging for a forgiveness he would never get. Yes, that would be worth it. He had barely stayed with him for half an hour, but loathed him thoroughly.

He managed to get back to headquarters, which were located in an old (it had been built in the Middle Age), crumbling castle, without being noticed, but not without a little help from his wand. Of course, the patrols stood no chance againts magic.

Rommel was waiting for him, and though he noticed the darker shade which hovered in Tom's green eyes subsequently to his meeting with Harrison, he was wise enough to avoid mentioning it. On the countrary, he wordlessly gestured for the teen to have a seat, and patiently waited for him to make his report. As the younger wizard went through the events of the evening, though it was an edited version, the Feldmarschal felt, more than he actually saw, discreet waves of dark emotion radiating from Tom, betraying his mood.

"This weak attempt is the most utter nonsense I have ever heard", the teen concluded through gritted teeth.

"Yet you agreed", Rommel quietly reminded him.

"Thought it couldn't hurt to give the thing to Stauffenberg", the younger wizard shrugged. "As long as I'm not supposed to be anywhere nearby when it goes off..."

"How do you know the bomb has not been, say, magically improved ?" the German officer suggested. "It may be far more dangerous than a mere bomb..."

"I dare hope they did", Tom muttered. "Or I'd really start to doubt their sanity."

"There are not much ways to defeat Dark Lords", Rommel pointed out. "Though some strange occurences happened throughout history, most of the time it ends up with them dueling a wizard stronger, or being outnumbered by weaker wizards..."

"Well, anyway, our problem is to get that, er... briefcase sent to Germany, with arousing suspicion", Tom groaned.

"It might not prove so difficult, actually", the Feldmarschal replied absent-mindedly, while flicking over some of the paper work that encumbered his desk.

He eventually found what he was looking for, as surprising as it may seem when confronted to the mess which sprawled on the piece of furniture. From what Tom could see, it looked like an official letter. New orders ?

"I have more or less completed my inspection here, so now I'm supposed to go back to Berlin and report to the Führer. I talked earlier with Feldmarschal von Rundstedt. Grindelwald isn't going to be pleased with the said report, for that matter..."

"Really ?" Tom asked, more interested than he would let show.

"As long as the Führer keeps listening to these Seers of his..." Rommel snorted disdainfully, then clasped his mouth as if he had said more than he intended to.

"Well, good for us", Tom grinned. "When do we leave ?"

"In a few days, I'm not sure exactly when. The problem, once we're back, will be to get to Stauffenberg himself, but... we'll have enough time to figure it out."

"This Stauffenberg fellow must really hate Grindelwald, if he is ready to risk his life..." Tom thought out loud.

"He's a little weird", his blond friend commented, "but he has reasons to be. He lost his right hand, and several fingers of the left. With that, he's blind in one-eye."

"That's gloomy", the teen muttered.

"Well, he uses to say that he didn't do anything with his ten fingers when he had them", Rommel had a wry smile.

"Sounds like quite a cheerful fellow", Tom grimaced, overwhelmingly reminded of Dumbledore. That was the kind of things this old fool would say in the same situation.


	24. Password ? What Password ?

**A/N **: You already know what I'm going to say - after all, you've already read it 23 times - so I'll just pass and let you read the chapter.

* * *

_July 1944 - Berlin, Germany_

Some classical music filled the air, but was not loud enough to cover the noise of the crowd, which was big enough to prove that the obscure German officer who was giving this party must have invited half of the officers currently living in Berlin. Most people were just speaking quietly together, but the combined sound of all these conversations produced a loud buzz. Almost all of the guests were in uniform, and Tom was no exception, as he was currently pretending to be Rommel's aide - Aldinger had duly been sent to Düsseldorf to make pointless arrangements, so he was convienently not there to protest. Rommel himself was currently debriefing in the presence of some of the highest-ranking officials in the Third Reich, who needed to know about the situation in France - which definition convieniently did not include von Stauffenberg, whose duties lied elsewhere. Tom was glad enough not to be in the Feldmarshall's shoes, even if his own job was almost as dangerous as a meeting with Grindelwald.

He scanned the crowd discreetly. Fortunately, he was rather inconspicuous ; who would pay attention to a young lieutenant lost in a crowd of generals and other field marshalls ? Besides, Tom's existence itself was quite unofficial, so no one had any reason to approach him.

Eventually, he located the man he was looking for. It was not that difficult, as said man was rather easy to notice, courtesy of his extended injuries. How could a man suffer such wounds and still be smiling and willing to make public appearances was beyond Tom, but he had to grudgingly admit he did admire the man for that courage. More than that, Stauffenberg's attitude made his wounds seem as if they were irrelevant, trivials. If he himself did not bestow any extent upon these injuries, then other people had no reason to. Yes, that was the kind of man Tom would expect to hit back at Grindelwald.

Stauffenberg was currently speaking pleasantly with two other officers, another general and a colonel - or rather, the poor colonel was stuck between his two superiors and could hardly take part in the talk. Stauffenberg was of average height, with short brown hair and one deep dark chestnut eye. He did not miss a thing around him, although his right eye was covered by a dark patch ; but his left was filled with an inner knowledge of what pain could inflict, and some early pain-agony-induced wrinkles were visible around his eyes and on his forehead. That made him look a little scary, and he obviously knew it. Of course, he could have had his eye replaced by a magic one, since he was a wizard (who else could try to kill Grindelwald and seriously have a go at it ?) ; but in his line of work it was difficult, as he was constantly surrounded by muggles. Maybe he had one, hidden behind this eyepatch, the teen mused. As the general lifted his glass, that he held in his left hand, Tom also noticed that he had only three fingers left. As for his right arm, it abruptly ended below his elbow, and his sleeve was pinned up so as not to hang down wildly.

Tom had left the briefcase in which the bomb was hidden in the cloakroom, but now he needed to let it know to Stauffenberg so the otger wizard could pick it up. That did not sound half as difficult as it actually was, because they were in a room full of loyal Germans, and one slip-up would be their death-warrant. If it happened, even Rommel's protection would not suffice to keep Tom out of harm's way. Actually, trying to help him in that case would be likely to be the end of the Feldmarschall, though his already existing link with Tom would be enough, should it be proved ; and Aldinger's mere testimony that Tom had been in Africa would be more than sufficient for Grindelwald to order a firing squad.

Fortunately, Tom had already given the situation some thoughts, and his little scheme was ready, assuming the most simple ideas were the most likely to work as well. Thus, he approached Stauffenberg in his best military manner, without even trying to hide his features, and clicked his heels in front of the man, before saluting sharply. The good thing with uniforms was that when one was wearing them, nobody would pay any attention to his face. They would label him as a captain, or as a major, or, in the current case, as a lieutenant, and leave it as that. If the two other officers currently speaking with Stauffenberg were asked to portray that unknown lieutenant, Tom was willing to bet they could not even remember his hair color. Well, actually he _was _laying a bet on it, with his life in token of his certainty.

"General Stauffenberg", he said blankly, "a phone call for you, sir. If you will follow me..."

The German officer looked slightly surprised, then shrugged and excused himself to the two others, before signalling to Tom he was following him. The teen held back a satisfied grin, as everything was going as planned, and led the other wizard to a room he had previously located, which was empty but in which there _was _a phone - just in case someone would happen to stumble inside the room.

Stauffenberg picked the phone, and it took him mere seconds to realize there was no one at the other end of the wire. His reactions were impressive for their swiftness, and he had his wand at the ready, aimed at Tom, in no time. The teen did not bother to draw his own wand, confident enough in his abilities to dodge any spell the German would cast him should the need arise. His confidence and calm demeanor put the older man slightly off balance, and finally, as nothing happened, he spoke quietly.

"What is the meaning of this ?"

"It's not a trap, if that's what you think", Tom replied, careful not to move too bluntly ; he did not care to be hit by a curse.

"Now that you've told me what it is not, I'd like to know what it actually is", Stauffenberg stated with a hint of humor, though he kept his wand warily directed towards the teen.

"I'm here making a favor to a mutual friend of ours", Tom informed him as he lazily leant back against the wall. "I think you must remember him. He likes lemon drops."

Hearing that, Stauffenberg slackened a little, but did not look totally convinced ; Tom could hardly blame him, knowing how much risks he was taking. Besides, Dumbledore's liking of sweets, and especially those with a lemon taste, was not exactly the best kept of informations ; it was an open secret.

"If that's true, then you should be able to tell me the password", Stauffenberg said casually, while eyeing the teen closely.

"Password ?" Tom repeated, baffled. "What password ? No one told me anything about a password !"

Oh, he was going to kill Dumbledore - _if _he survived this predicament, of course. If he didn't, he would haunt that bastard for the rest of his life, and even after.

"Look, the mere fact that I know about your little conspiracy should make it obvious that we're on the same side. Otherwise, I wouldn't bother, frankly, I'd just have you arrested and shot", he finally blurted out snappishly.

"It's all right", Stauffenberg suddenly had a half smile, "there isn't any password. I just wanted to make sure. Are you certain no one can hear us ?"

"I checked the room before luring you here", the teen reassured him, not without glaring at him for that "what-is-the-password" nonsense. "Anyway, let's make it quick - we wouldn't want your friends in the salon to worry, would we ? Besides, it will be short. There is a briefcase in the cloakroom. Number thirty-eight. Don't forget it when you leave, 'cause I had a hard time bringing it here in the first place. The bomb is easy enough to activate. If you have a look at the clasp, you'll find the switch within easy reach. Then, you'll have a fifteen minutes delay before everything blows up."

Tom tossed Stauffenberg a plastic token with the number thirty-eight written on it, and the man caught it deftly in spite of his lack of fingers. Absorbing the information he looked thoughtfully at the younger wizard, as if trying to figure something out.

"Who are you ?" he finally asked. "When I asked London to help me, I didn't think... well, I knew some of my fellow officers have the same doubts as I, and I just thought the bomb would be sent to me through them..."

Obviously, he had second-thoughts whether to trust Tom or not, and the teen refrained a need to roll his eyes ; it was too undignified.

"It would have been a little too blatant, now, wouldn't it ? My name is irrelevant. If you want to know, one of your fellow officers is involved in this getting-a-bomb-to-Germany affair, and I'm telling you this only because I went through too much trouble to actually give you that chance for you to muck it up for the mere reason you don't trust me. And you did not even hear that last sentence."

"I get the point", Stauffenberg finally said. "In any case, I don't have a choice. I'm already involved in this, for the better or for the worse, so I guess I will just have to carry on whether you are trustworthy or not - I suppose I will know that in a few days. But should I survive this, I'd like to know your name, and his."

"If you do survive, I'll gladly oblige you", Tom shrugged. "And I do hope you manage to pull that out. Well, good luck, I think I should go now. By the way, should anyone ask, the phone call was general Hesse's - he'll back up your story if need be. He asked you to have a copy of your last report on the situation of the Russian front sent to his office, because the original was mislaid."

"Understood", the German general nodded. "I see you organized this meeting carefully."

"I'm a little too young to die, thank you very much", Tom grunted. "It was a pleasure getting to know you, but I need to go. You should leave in a few minutes - leave me enough time to disappear."

Tom had already reached the door when he suspended his move and turned once again towards the man.

"Oh, by the way..."

"Yes ?" Stauffenberg curiously tilted his head.

"Maybe you did not do much with your ten fingers when you had them. But what you're going to do with the three last makes up for it."

The German general cast him an astounded glance, then couldn't help but laugh heartily. When Tom closed the door behind him, he was still laughing.

Having no interest whatsoever in the party, and now that he had done what he had come to do, Tom left the place without a tinge of regret. He made his way back quickly to the hotel where he and Rommel had booked in, and, drawing his key, he opened the door of their room, relishing the idea of having some quiet after this promiscuity he had had to suffer. He hated crowds. If ever he had to make public appearances, he would make sure everyone stayed at least one meter away from him, and preferably two.

Yet, his wish for privacy was not to be granted that night, for he found out Rommel was already back and had collapsed in a chair, his blond hair tousled and his feature betraying exhaustion.

"_Lights _!" he croaked painfully, closing his eyes, as Tom found the switch.

The teen settled for switching on only the bedside lamp, which diffused only a flood-lighting, leaving the room in mid-darkness. From the look of it, his fellow wizard had a tremondous headache, and the teen cringed in sympathy.

"I assume your meeting with Grindelwald did not go well", he said mildly, while finding himself a seat.

"Not at all, I spent a _wonderful _evening", the Feldmarschal groaned hoarsely, not without mockery. "He did not like my report."

"Told you you'd better lie to him", Tom pointed out.

"I did", came the terse reply. "But even then, the news were bad enough."

"I thought Grindelwald did not like to resort to physical pain", the teen mused.

"He doesn't. But Himmler does, and Grindelwald was in a bad mood enough not to prevent his minions from... soothing their nerves."

"I'm selfishly glad I was not in your shoes", Tom smiled.

"I don't doubt it", Rommel sniggered dryly. "So, I gather your evening was better than mine."

"It went all right", the teen shrugged. "I spoke with you-know-who, and he has the you-know-what. I hope he succeeds", he added truthfully. "I rather liked the guy."

"Yes, he's a little weird sometimes, but he's a nice fellow when you get to know him", Rommel agreed. "Though we were never really close. But, frankly, I'm not sure if he really has any chance to succeed. This plot could really have been better prepared."

"They've not been caught yet, so it's not hopeless, I suppose", Tom sighed. "I wonder when he's going to hit."

"In three days, most likely" his blond friend informed him absent-mindedly. "No, I'm not in the Gods's secret, but I can add two and two. There will be a big meeting in the Wolf's Den, and Grindelwald will be present. That's a perfect occasion, and the icing on the cake is that no civilian lives will be at stake, though this regard is secondary."

"What if Grindelwald is only injured ? I mean, it would be a perfect occasion to strike him down once and for all, and it will go to waste if you-know-who leaves before the you-know-what blows up..." Tom stared ruefully at the ceiling.

"I gave it some thought", Rommel said quietly as he straightened up, wincing as it induced a stabbing pain in all of his muscles. "But it all depends on how truly, deeply insane we both are. Or maybe on how much we want to stop this madness..."

Tom cast him a sharp look.

"Could you get straight to the point ?" he already suspected what his fellow wizard had in mind, but he wanted to hear it from him.

"Hmm, well, that's quite simple. If we want to make sure we're rid of Grindelwald once and for all, then we have to go to that meeting and witness his downfall."

"I knew it. I just _knew _it." Tom closed his eyes and leant back in his armchair. "Do you realize just how incredibly dangerous it is ? With a meeting of such importance, the Gezaupo will be crawling around..."

"Calm down", Rommel cut him in a soothing tone. "In that regard, Grindelwald's paranoia will save us. He doesn't trust the Gezaupo all that much, and no one below the rank of general knows about this meeting. The few trusted men that will attend as security will be busy enough with the explosion if they're not killed or injured, and it's not as if we were going to launch a full-scale attack."

"I don't know", Tom said, pursing his lips.

Yet, it was tempting. He could already imagine himself being the one who had terminated Grindelwald. The fame, and power that always came with it... the opportunity to try his skills and dueling ability against a very strong dark wizard... His lust for power nagged at him temptingly, dangling the countless possibilities such a fight, should Grindelwald survive the explosion, might give him.

"If we remain hidden... maybe just checking to make sure would be reasonable..." he murmured mildly.

The more he considered the idea, the more he was tempted to do it, even though his rational self told him forcefully he would regret that decision if something went wrong. Yet, no going was beginning to seem unthinkable.

"Then it's settled", Rommel said without a hint of satisfaction at convincing the younger wizard.

"I'll hold you personnally responsible if we don't make it", Tom muttered. "And I'll make a hell of your -"

"- death", the blond wizard completed. "If anything goes wrong, I don't think we'll have any time to retaliate, so get over it. I'm not compelling you to do anything you don't want."

"I know", Tom said grimly. "I still need to find someone to blame for this whole situation."

"What about that Dumbledore fellow ?" Rommel suggested with amusement.

"Agreed", Tom sniggered. "I already have a few bones to pick with him anyway."

He yawned, and checked his watch. He was not surprised when he realized it was already eleven in the evening, and the day had been trying.

"Yes, time to have some sleep" the Feldmarschal nodded.

He tried to rise, and took in a sharp breath as a stab of pain almost made him retch. He blurted out a hiss of pain, and, gasping for breath, he might have fallen if Tom had not advanced to help him to the bed. The teen considered the crumpled figure lying on the bed with mild sympathy.

"What curses did he use ?" he queried.

"The mind-burning curse, the muscle-twisting one, and a few others I don't even recognized", came the hushed reply, and the British wizard winced. These were no gentle magic.

Fortunately, although the pain was probably tremendous, there was no open wound, so Rommel's life was probably not in danger. Himmler had had the common sense to curb his killer instincts, which proved at least that the blond wizard was still in Grindelwald's favor. But as soon as this protection would wear off, he would have to fear the Reichführer's enmity.

Reconing there was not much he could do, Tom decided to just let his friend rest, and he switched off the lights as he left the room to make it to his own bed.

* * *

**Ending Note** : A few words about Stauffenberg.

Claus Schenk von Stauffenberg really tried to kill Hitler by using a bomb, and it's common knowledge that Rommel was involved in the plot, or at least knew about it, though what part exactly he took in it remains unknown ; one thing's sure, though, it's that he didn't tell Hitler about it. I'm borrowing the briefcase bomb from both the show Hogan's Heroes (which you should watch if you like WW2 and a good laugh) and from the movie "Operation Walkyrie".

Stauffenberg's injuries are real as well, he was seriously wounded, though in do not know of the circumstances. He also used to joke about it, thus the quote about him not doing anything with his ten fingers when he still had them is accurate, as far as I know.


	25. No One Interferes With Me

**A/N : **No, my initials are not JKR, no, I'm not a very wealthy woman, and no, I'm not even British. So they're definitely not mine. Yes, that comes as a harsh realisation every morning.

* * *

_July 1944 - Around the Wolf's Den, Germany_

The night had long since fallen, and the darkness was almost total, though the faint glimmer of the stars did allow the shadows of the surroundings to stand out. The moon, as thin as a slice of cake, and hidden behind a dark cloud, did not help much. However, this murkiness did serve the purpose of two wizards, who were exactly where they were not supposed to be. Both clad in dark robes, their faces were also hidden by the hood of their cloaks - which was rather a good precaution when, like Erwin Rommel, one possessed dark blond hair, which would do him little good in his attempt to remain out of sight.

They had, of course, cast several charms on themselves, so as to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Yet, the utmost importance of this meeting, and the attendance of Grindelwald himself, was a warranty of the presence of wizard guards rather than muggle ones. However, hopefully if Stauffenberg's attempt was to be successful, or even if it was a half-failure, the subsequent confusion should be enough distraction to keep them out of the way. Or maybe not ; but the occasion to put an end to Grindelwald's life was too much of a fluke, or maybe, destiny, to let it go without trying to take advantage of it. It was highly unlikely to ever occur again, therefore little choice in the matter remained for those who wanted to get rid of the Dark Lord forever. Nevertheless, that thought did little to ease the fear both Rommel and Tom felt, even though none of them let any of it show on their faces.

So, here they were, near the Wolf's Den, one of Grindelwald's best hidden bunkers, waiting for the signal to strike. Which signal would be unmistakable, and probably loud enough to be heard as far as Great Britain. The briefcase Tom had given Stauffenberg was not so big, but the teen would have bet his wand that it was overstuffed with the most powerful explosive known to date. And if it wasn't, he would have a serious talk with Dumbledore, should he get out of this dire situation alive. But, along with his so well concealed fear, he could also feel excitement, pride - anticipation. He was at a crossroads, and the outcome of that night would determine his own fate. Of that he was certain, although he possessed no talent whatsoever in the field of Divination. He hoped - knew - this night would see the downfall of Grindelwald, and his first step on the path for power. The path for _ultimate _power. Grindelwald was nothing in comparison of what he dreamt of achieving.

Rommel checked his watch ; it was well past ten in the evening. It wouldn't be much longer now. The distinct feeling he had that he was going to witness a turn in history was definitely a bit weird, and he couldn't say he was happy about that. He wished he could just have remained home, sitting near the hearth, with a cup of something hot... not to mention his body still ached from Himmler's demonstration. This one, he would take care of given the occasion, he swore himself with a cold, ruthless determination which was really not like him ; but he could not have cared less at this particular moment.

"Any time, now", he whispered in a barely audible murmure. Tom merely nodded in answer.

They were about two hundred meters from the bunker ; far enough not to be noticed, but close enough to act if need be. Currently hidden behind a venerable oak, they were all too aware of the possibility of a patrol running into them. But in this regard, Grindelwald's paranoia did indeed serve them well, for he had allowed only a minimum of guards, not trusting the lower-ranking men in his army. The Abwehr's plot to overthrow him several years ago, though it had failed due to a traitor amongst them, had alarmed him, and had fueled his worst fear ; being murdered by traitors in his ranks. Besides, very few people knew of this meeting, and even fewer were aware of the location of this bunker. Secrecy was, of course, the best security one could hope to achieve.

The silence of the night was unsettling. It was as though the whole forrest surrounding the bunker, making it harder to notice, was holding its breath, waiting for destiny to be accomplished. Or maybe the SS's stomping had scared away all the living creatures of the area. All barring two crazy wizards, who though they would be able to change history. To change the lives of billions of people ; to sway the fate of a world. Or maybe, two crazy wizards who just wanted to live free, whatever their deeper reasons for craving liberty may be.

The explosion went without so much as a warning, and so suddenly that at first, neither Tom nor Rommel reacted. It took them a few seconds to realize this was the signal they had been waiting for, and, after sharing a glance, they started to run towards the source of the sound. Going inside the bunker would be suicidal ; but if Grindelwald had survived, he would go out. And in that case, it would be up to Rommel and Tom to finish the task Stauffenberg had started, as it was unlikely that Stauffenberg himself would still be alive. Had he not perished in the explosion, then the guards would hunt him down, and with only one arm...

When the two wizards arrived near the bunker, they saw several officials going out, most of them coughing their lungs out, several of them severely injured. They were a little too confused and dazed because of the unexpected attack to care about anything else, not mentioning those who had been knocked out by the blast. So none of them noticed the two wizards who should not have been there, not even the guards, who were franctically running around, not exactly knowing what they were looking for, but knowing they'd better have something to tell their leader when he'd ask them how they'd reacted to the situation - a situation they had supposedly been trained to handle.

"There", Rommel hissed in Tom's ear, and the teen noticed, a little aside the rest of the commotion, Grindelwald himself, coughing his lungs out, bent on his knees as if he was going to be sick.

"Hell, Stauffenberg missed him", Tom growled, as he felt adrenalin flooding his veins.

"So what do we do ?" his fellow wizard queried.

"Do you even need to ask ?" Tom enquired, raising an eyebrow.

Rommel hesitated. He had wanted to make sure of the Dark Lord's death, yet as he watched the dictator, he realized he was unsure of the course of actions he should follow. If he acted now, his family would be endangered in the case of his failure, and he wouldn't have another occasion. However... In any case, would he have another occasion ? And his family, would it be safe if the war lasted longer, while Germany had already lost the war ? Everybody knew that, and pretended that wasn't the case, but it didn't change the facts. That was one, and unique, occasion to get definitely rid of Grindelwald. Not to seize it would be foolish.

His decision taken, Rommel nodded to the teen. Most of the guards were inside the building, and the others had already left to chase a track of some kind. The few officials that remained would, hopefully, not be a problem - and even more so since a few of them were muggles, aware of the existence of wizards, but with no power whatsoever.

Sharing a glance, both Tom and Rommel raised their wands towards the Dark Lord. They were about fifty meters away from him, and they could not miss their target if they aimed carefully. In the same voice, they unleashed their magic.

"Interitus !" Shouted Rommel.

"Ignis !" Tom's voice, slightly higher-pitched than his friend's, was clearly audible.

There was a flash of light, as a dark blue ray spurt out of Rommel's wand, while a firebolt originated from Tom's. Both their curses made their way toward a nonplussed Grindelwald - still panting, he did not expect another attack so soon after the first attempt. However, as a Dark wizard, he had an intuition and an awareness that allowed him to feel the surge of dark magic, and he reacted without even thinking. With a wave of his hand, he erected a shield, and the two spells crashed on it. The shield faltered almost immediately after, for sustaining such a powerful wandless magic was draining, and therefore was not worth using unless in a life-threatening situation.

Having lost the advantage of surprise, Tom and his fellow wizard had none other choice but to strike again. It was too late to even hope to fall back ; now that Rommel's betrayal was known, they had to eliminate Grindelwald or to die trying. With difficulty, Tom refrained a hiss of anger. It was not supposed to happen like that. Grindelwald was supposed to be weakened, if not dead. He _should _have been an easy target. But he belied his innocuous apparence ; now that he was directly threatened, raw power emanated from him. It was an unpolished power, but undeniably a great one - much greater than Rommel's or Tom's, the teen had to admit it in spite of his ego. But now, that was only the tangible proof of how much Dark magic could bring to he who would be daring enough to reach for it.

The Dark Lord did not give them much time to think or prepare themselves. If being attacked was something he was to expect in his position, betrayal was not something he took lightly. Even less betrayal from his favourite general. His fury fueled his power, as he raised his wand to crush the two men who had thought they would be able to overthrow him.

"Suplicium ! Fulgetrum ! Praesul !"

He was indeed powerful, to be able to cast three powerful spells in a raw, for it was each time more straining, if the caster did not wait a few seconds between two spells. Thus, he took the risk to tire himself, while he had to fight two foes at the same time. It could seem a suicidal behaviour, and that would not even be surprising from a man such as the Dark Lord. But his demeanor showed blatantly that it was nothing more than confidence in his own abilities. Following that streategy merely meant he would have to take his two ennemies down before the strain could put him in a difficult situation. Besides, even like that, his magical powers allowed him to waste some of it.

The two first spells had been cast at his attackers, as they were offensive spells. The last one was a powerful protective charm.

Tom ducked away as a purple ray grazed him, and Rommel erected a shield just in time. However, the hastily raised spell collapsed when the Dark Lord's curse hit it. It was just not powerful enough to match Grindelwald's jinxes. With a feeling of despair, Rommel cast a cutting spell to his former Lord, and winced when he saw it be countered by him. He was not abreast Grindelwald, he realized it painfully. Yet, he was to the core a military man - he just could not give up so easily.

As Tom gathered himself and cast another offensive spell to Grindelwald - which had little efficiency - the Dark Lord flicked his wand and dark threads went out of the tip of the wand. Almost at the same time, Tom and Rommel understood what he was doing - it was obvious to anyone who had ever studied the Dark Arts. The dictator was summoning a Dark creature. The thousand galleons question being, what kind of creature ?

It was big, no doubt. And as it started to take shape, it became obvious it had a tail with sharp spikes. Not to mention the already gleaming teeth, the yellow shimmering eyes, the long claws that drew furrows on the ground. There were wings, too, which looked like a bat's. Made of dark hide, they were also way too small to possibly allow that... thing to fly. Yet... that was obviously a magic creature, so, who knew what it might be able to do ?

It looked slightly like a dragon, but it wasn't one. Actually, it resembled an interbreed between a dragon and a snake ; but that was the red glow that appeared on the thing's forehead that gave Tom the answer - he knew everything there was to know about his cold-blooded "cousins".

"It's a Vouivre !" he cried out.

It had taken mere seconds for the thing to completely take shape, not enough to launch an attack on Grindelwald as Rommel and Tom were too astonished by the thing now standing up against them to even think to move against the Dark Lord. Too late to have regrets... But, to the Feldmarschal's surprise, his younger companion displayed now a wild smile as he cooly apraised the Vouivre. What could he possibly have in mind ?

It was so like Grindelwald to summon a Slytherin kind of creature, Tom thought with delight. Of course, the Dark Lord did not know of his "special ability". No one knew ; not even Dumbledore. And now that he had taken care of his family, he was the only one remaining who possessed this skill.

As the Vouivre made herself ready to strike, Tom walked fearlessly towards her, and met her gaze with arrogance. He had never been scared of any kind of snakes. Hell, he had even dealt with a basilisk on occasion ! A Vouivre was no different - maybe even a little less dangerous, since its gaze was not fatal. However, it did have sharp claws and teeth, and a lethal poison.

"Move no more !" he hissed in Parseltongue. He felt with delight the whistling and frightening sounds roll on his tongue. That was a language of power.

The Vouivre stopped, as if baffled, and tilted its head, hesitating. Grindelwald couldn't help but stare, gaping and astounded. He had not expected that. Rommel seized his chance, and raised his wand as he whispered the incantation instead of shouting it ; that was the only way he could surprise the Dark Lord.

And indeed, focused as he was on Tom and his vassal creature, the dictator was not able to raise a shield in time ; yet, he was quick enough to almost dodge the spell in time ; almost. Blood trickled on his arm, as his shoulder was scratched by the offensive spell. Had he not moved in time, it would have beheaded him. Beside himself, he raised his wand, a glint of madness gleaming in his eyes.

"Crush them !" He spat to his vassal creature.

The Vouivre, supposedly binded to him, should have had no choice but to obey. However, Parselmouths' influence over snakelike creatures when beyond that. Had it been merely the ability to speak to snakes, it probably wouldn't have had such a bad reputation, even though it was true that most wizards possessing this ability were Dark. But what really frightened common people was the fact that this skill allowed the wizard who possessed it to really control snakes. It took a great will from a snake or any similar creature not to obey ; and it definitely never happened that a snake attacked a parselmouth. Lore had it that an agreement had been settled between the first Parselmouth of all times with the snake breed, and that this agreement still stood. No one knew the whole truth, and the scarceness of Parselmouth made any study difficult. But maybe there was some truth in this lore and the numerous legends that mother used to frighten their children into eating their soup, for the Vouivre wavered, unable to strike that human boy who knew her words.

"Back off !" Tom hissed, as he saw the effect his words had on the creature.

"Crucio !" Grindelwald roared, determined as he was to prevent this unknown boy from meddling up with his vassal creature. It should obey him, and him only ! Why in the world was it hesitating ?

The Unforgivable should have hit Tom, but Rommel lifted a stone and used it to intercept the curse, protecting his fellow wizard. In the meantime, the Vouivre was experiencing a terrible dilemma. Its master had ordered it to strike. But it couldn't strike its kin - as it considered the Parselmouth boy. The snakelike body tensed as it readied itself to attack, and a hiss escaped its mouth. There was only one thing it was able to do in that situation. It rolled over, and stroke. At Grindelwald.

The Dark Lord dissolved his vassal creature, but not before it managed to injure him. One of its fangs remained embedded in the evil wizard's side, and he pulled it out with a yell of pain. At the same time, a rumbling sound was heard, and the three wizards all turned their heads in the direction of the bunker. So engaged in the duel they had been, that they had forgotten about their surroundings, and they now discovered that the bunker, damaged by the bomb, crumbled down and collapsed - probably killing meanwhile all those who had not managed to get out, and most of the guards who had gone inside to help the rescapees.

"NOCEO !" the Dark Lord incanted with fury and hatred and a shining line spurt out of his wand. It was almost impossible to duck it, and Rommel's weak attempt at creating a shield barely slowed the spell.

Excruciating pain prevented him from even thinking as he fell on his knees, and his mind barely registered that Tom was in the same posture. All he could do was to choke, as the curse prevented him from breathing. Yes, that was bloody brilliant. Not only was the spell lethal, but even more, if he could not breath then he could not speak ; he had no chance to end it, or even to strike back. And as a bonus it inflicted agony on him. He saw black spots, as the deprivation of oxygen started to take effects.

The worse was maybe that the last sound he would hear was Grindelwald's insane laugh...

"Finite Incantatem !"

Weird... that did not sound like Grindelwald's laugh. Not like anyone's laugh, actually. It was a deep though stony voice, yet the power it carried was undeniable. Rommel managed to take a breath in, but all he could do was gasp for breath as he lay on the ground where he had fallen. When at last he managed to raise his head, his eyes widened as he recognized the man that just save him and Tom. A brown beard - much longer than the last time he had seen the man - blue eyes sparkling fire, long hair...

Dumbledore.

_What is this man doing here ?_ For a second, that was all that the Feldmarschal was able to think. Then, he gathered himself ; what did it matter ? The only important thing was that he was here to help them fight against Grindelwald.

"Who are you ?!" Grindelwald asked.

Rommel was surprised that he had even bothered to ask before _removing _the hindrance.

"Albus Dumbledore", the bearded wizard introduced himself as cheerily as if he had been invited to a tea party.

"I have heard of you", Grindelwald spat. "But no one interferes with me, you arrogant..."

At a loss for a word suiting Dumbledore's audacity, the Dark Lord raised his wand once again, ready to strike. But as Rommel and Tom's savior straightened himself, they distinctly felt the power emanating from him clash with the insane dictator's. Grindelwald was weakened, and Dumbledore powerful. The conclusion of the fight was however yet to be determined.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Eyes in eyes, the two powerful wizard's fight was above all else a battle of will. Notwithstanding, none of them was ready to back away from the confrontation. Both Tom and Rommel understood that there would be no draw ; it would be death or victory. They pulled themselves together and got back on their feet, each on one of Dumbledore's side. In spite of the dislike the three wizards shared for each other, they would stand together against a greater evil.

They started moving in a split second. They cast a string of spells, both verbals and non-verbals, which made it more difficult to counter them. Though they were ready to back up Dumbledore if need be, there was an unspoken agreement that neither Rommel nor Tom would step in unless there was no other choice. They would not dare to move in such a duel - and a formal duel it was - if they could avoid it. A wizard of Dumbledore's stature - and as Gryffindor like as he was - could only fight fairly, one-to-one, against his ennemies, no matter how despisable.

The fight was almost a blur at times, as various spells were exchanged ; but suddenly, it came to a halt. Both wizards were breathing heavily, both were bleeding from several, though minor, injuries. But the despair in Grindelwald's eyes showed who had the upper hand in the battle. Suddenly, the Dark Lord reached for his neck, and drew a thin gold chain, exposing a hourglass as he did so. Tom had never seen anything like that, but knew what it was. A time-turner. If Grindelwald managed to go back to the past, he would change the outcome of the fight, and all hope would be lost.

Rommel rushed at Grindelwald, not even thinking to use his wand. He could not even think of a spell to use in that case, and the time-turner was probably charmed againt Accio spells. As he came within reach of the Dark Lord, Tom and Dumbledore's destroying spells, aimed at the time-turner, hit their target, while Grindelwald had already half turned the hourglass. With a deafening sound, the time-turner shattered with a streak of light as intense as the sunlight, which blinded all four wizards, and a shock wave of raw magic threw both Tom and Dumbledore out. Then, everything fell silent.

Tom came back to his senses a couple of minutes later. At first, he did not see anything, still dazzled by the intense light. He jumped on his feet and frantically searched for Grindelwald, expecting an attack any moment. But nothing came. The young wizard raised his wand to his eyes and muttered a spell ; almost at once, his eyesight returned, and he was able to witness the situation.

Dumbledore was on his left, catching his breath, but the teen ignored him. All his attention was on the dark figure laying on the ground, about twenty meters away. He slowly approached it, and stood silently over the corpse. He had not expected to find him dead, and he took in a sharp breath as he realized that he was definitely gone. Definitely.

Grindelwald was dead.

Near the Dark Lord's body laid a dark wooded wand, and a blood stained German military cap. That was everything that remained of Erwin Rommel.

He felt Dumbledore's presence behind him, but did not bother to spin round. The older wizard released a weary sigh.

"I am sorry, Tom", he said gently.

As if he would care what the old coot had to say, Tom thought bitterly. He turned dry eyes towards the man.

"We should go", he said calmly. "It won't be long before this place crawls with Germans."

Dumbledore nodded, and turned away. If he saw Tom pick up the shattered time-turner, the cap and the wand, he said nothing about it. Just before leaving, the teen raised his wand and muttered a Cutting spell. Not long after, Grindelwald's body didn't look much human anymore - which actually fit him. He wasn't very human to begin with.

"Was that necessary ?" Dumbledore asked in a reproving tone. "Respecting the dead..."

"Just to make sure", Tom replied tersely. "There are Resurecting dark rituals, as I'm quite certain you're aware, despite their lack of proven efficiency. Besides, do you really think this one dead deserves so much respect ?"


	26. You Are Nemrod

**A/N : **Disclaimer : If they were mine, I wouldn't have to get up at 7am each morning and go study.

* * *

_July 1944 - Somewhere in Germany_

Tom sighed once again, as he felt cold dampness in his shoes. He and Dumbledore had been walking for hours, and they had not slept since... Since before Grindelwald's death, actually. As any magical activity would be recorded by the Gezaupo, they could not Apparate without giving away their destination, and it was impossible to Apparate in an ennemy country - which was exactly the reason why Tom and Rommel had used chimney powder when the teen had first come to Germany, and then to Africa. Rommel... Tom shook his head. He did not want to think about that. It was not like he was any kind of friendly chap anyway. He was a cold-blooded killer. He had ended his own father's life without as much as an afterthought or even a remote tinge of regret.

Trying to distract himself from his uncomfortable musings, he settled his mind on their situation. They had carefully avoided the last town - Hammelburg, or something like that, and now they were in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing around, no house, not even a farm. They were in the forest, and it was the middle of the night. The icing on the cake was that it had started to rain, and their feet sunk deeply in the mud, each step produced a sickening squashy sound.

After making sure Grindelwald was well and truly dead, they had left in a hurry, and used Dumbledore's car. How a wizard could stoop to driving a muggle filthy machine, that was beyond Tom, but he would have admitted it had indeed proven useful if he hadn't been a sly Slytherin. At any rate, they had abandoned said vehicle some time ago, and then had settled on walking. Where they were going, Tom had no idea, but the old goat wouldn't say anything, which infuriated the teen to no end.

As he was following Dumbledore, the older wizard did not notice the scathing glare Tom cast him, nor did he saw the gleam of resentment in his bright green eyes. The teen had now one more reason to hate and despise Dumbledore - apart from the fact that he was a senile old coot - and he felt anger building in his chest. His former teacher had stolen his victory. Intervening while Grindelwald was already in a weakened state, Dumbledore had managed to steal away Tom's glory - everything that should have been his. Little did it matter that his arrival might have saved Tom and Rommel's life. Who knew if they wouldn't have found a way to get out of this situation by themselves ? Not mentioning all the good it had beneficiated the German wizard in the end... No, the hypocrite old goat was being his usual self, and under his merry demeanor, he was a calculating bastard. Of course, it did not help that, had he been in such a situation, Tom would have done exactly the same thing. But it was the Slytherin way, dammit, no the Ravenclaw one ! And he, at least, admitted openly and took charge of his slytherin inheritance, while Dumbledore... Tom scowled at the man's back. He was tired, hungry, and cold, and it was all the old goat's fault, in a way or another.

Suddenly, said old goat stopped dead in his track and raised a hand for Tom to stop moving as well. The teen complied - as much as he might loathe the older wizard, they were together in this predicament, and needed to work together to get to safety. But once back...

"Your wand", Dumbledore murmured. "Hide it, and anything that looks even remotely wizard. We might end up among people who don't know about us, and we wouldn't want to have to Obliviate them, would we ?"

Tom had already cast a minimizing charm on most of his possessions, and he merely tucked his wand in his sleeve. He could still access it quickly and defend himself if need be, for he was not certain he trusted whatever escape plan Dumbledore may have come up with.

Suddenly, a light shone about twenty meters away, in the midst of the bushes ahead of the two wizards. Warily, they waited until the proper signal was given, and then Dumbledore gave the coded answer with a flick of his wand and a few _Lumos _spells. Then only did several dark figures stand and come towards them. They moved with the ease of a long practice, and they kept their hands none too far from their belt, where a gun - or a wand, according to whether they were wizards - probably hung.

"We were expecting you", one of them said in a low voice. "Please follow me, and keep as silent as possible - there are several patrols out tonight."

"Of course", Dumbledore nodded. "Show us the way."

He had not even requested Tom's opinion, and the teen snorted, but not too loud as he heeded the dark figure's advice. But he did not have much choice in the matter - which was probably the reason why the odler wizard had not bothered asking, but it still would have been better behaved...

Thus, they followed their new friends across the bushes, and swiftly moved in the forest, until they arrived at the edge of the woods. A bit farther, there seemed to be a camp of sorts, but Tom did not pay attention as the smallest of the dark figures stepped ahead and opened... a stump ? The teen furiously blinked, but he was absolutely certain the smaller man had not used a wand. His curiosity aroused, he did not need to be told twice when another of their new friends motioned for him to follow the smaller figure.

He arrived in a tunnel ; but not just any tunnel. This one was quite spacious, well proped up, and high enough for him to stand up straight. That was most impressive... Now, he understood the reason for the fake stump ; it made the entrance of the tunnel quite well hidden... But why there ? Why dig a tunnel in the middle of a forest, and so close of what looked like a German camp ? Now, that was some mystery to unravel, but Tom had a hint he would know about it all too soon.

Behind him, Dumbledore and the men who had fetched the two wizards made their way in the tunnel. As the last of them arrived, Tom was able to take a closer look at the likely undergound agents. There was three of them ; the smallest had very short dark hair, and he looked straight and frank in the way he behaved. That was quite the Gryffindor type, the kind of guy who would speak his mind no matter what. Another one, taller, had blond hair and blue eyes, but looked like a youth and everything in his demeanor backed up this impression. He also carried an impression of clumsiness, like he did not know what to do with his gangling body. In some way, he reminded Tom of Wilkinson... The last one was of average height, with short brown hair and a sly smile, and the teen liked him at once. There was something in the way this man gazed at things around him that singled him out as a slytherin type - in other words, the clever type. Not that Dumbledore would agree with this assessment, but who cared ?

"Good, I see you made it back safely !" another man arrived in the tunnel, likely from the other end, followed by a black man - a sergeant. In his late thirties, he had an allied colonel's uniform, and bore a pleasant expression, but he looked just as cunning as the brown haired man, if not more. His dark eyes apraised the two wizards, and even though he kept on a mask of friendliness, Tom could almost feel his wariness. He gave Dumbledore an odd glance, but that could be accounted for by the man's long hair. No one had long hair - not in the muggle world, not when one was a man. But now, Dumbledore's fashion sense had always been outdated.

"Colonel Robert Hogan, and this is sergeant Ivan Kinchloe", the colonel said, waving at the black man and offering his hand. "I run our little Travelers' Aid Society, and incidentally I'm also the senior prisoner of war in Stalag 13."

"I have heard about you, colonel", Dumbledore nodded with a fatherly smile as he took the colonel's hand.

"All good I hope", Hogan said, but somehow he did not strike Tom as someone who would care much about his superiors' opinion.

"More than good ! Everyone thinks very highly of your operation, back in London", Dumbledore babbled.

"Excuse me", Tom interrupted. "Travelers's Aid Society ? Senior Prisoner of War ? I think I'm entitled to an explanation." His eyes narrowed dangerously at Dumbledore, and then he stared pointedly at the other men. He hated being left in the shadows, and not knowing what was going on. Not to mention the informations Dumbledore had obviously being keeping away from him - again. The man was a secretive bastard.

"We help people escape Germany", the colonel explained with the slightly bored tone of someone who had had to explain the same thing over and over again to plenty of people. "And incidentally execute some sabotage work and intel gathering. But to everyone else, we're just prisoners of war, from stalag 13 - which, by the way, is just above your heads gentlemen."

"I don't understand", Tom said bluntly. "If you have a tunnel at hand, why not escape ?"

That was what _he _would have done, in any case.

"We figured we could be far more useful by staying here", the slytherin-like guy said with a heavy cockney accent. "I'm corporal Peter Newkirk."

"Corporal Louis Lebeau", the Gryffindorish short man added. "Enchanté."

He was as French as one could be, and Tom had to hide a sneer.

"And I'm sergeant Andrew Carter", completed the clumsy blond youth, with a welcoming if somewhat slightly naive smile.

"Albus Dumbledore", the former teacher said with a smile in kind. His name drew odd looks that almost screamed 'what kind of name is that ?', and was proof enough that these undeground agents were not aware of the wizarding world - except maybe Hogan, who hoisted a half smile. But frankly, what did the old goat expect, with such a name in a Muggle environment ?

"Tom Riddle", the teen said eventually, and he was greeted by smiles from all the men.

"All right boys, now that the introductions have been made, how about we get up there and get you something to eat ?" the dark-haired colonel offered.

"You mean in the camp ?" Tom queried in alarm. Were all this guys sheer crazy ? How were they still alive with an operation like that ?

"Dun' worry", Newkirk said with a reassuring smile. "There are not many night bedchecks, the kommandant doesn't like to get up in the middle of the night... plus our barracks goon, Schultz, he is... well, you would have to see for yourself, but it's allright." He shared a knowing grin with the other men.

"If you say so", Tom muttered dubiously.

He took the lead and the two wizards followed. As he passed in front of the Frenchman and the clumsy one - Carter, he couldn't help but hear them mutter, while they thtought he was too far to overhear their muffled discussion.

"He's just a boy... what's he doing in the middle of this mess ?"

He glowered at them - he was young, _all right_ ! That didn't mean he wasn't able to do something right in this war. What did they think ? After all, he had managed to keep his cover while surrounded by Germans for over six months. He had nothing to learn about undeground operations. _And _he had saved Dumbledore's life along with Rommel, and gained hardly a thank in the process. The thought, along with the memory it brought, pained him, and the teen gritted his teeth. After all, he had already killed twice, directly or indirectly, and he didn't care one bit. He shouldn't feel that way for his german friend - no, not a friend, he had no friends, could not afford to have one.

Yet... now that the man was dead, would it hurt so much to accept that he had mattered to him ? He could no longer be a threat, nor used against him. Why not mourn him properly... or at least keep the memory vivid...

He quickly discarded the thought as Hogan climbed a ladder and motioned for them to follow him. Complying, Tom soon found himself in a wooden barracks. The bunks monopolized most of the available space, however there was a table near the door, and chairs. Tom was so tired he could kill for a place to rest, and he did not need to be told twice when, along with Dumbledore, he was invited to sit. The Frenchman started to make some coffee, but as he took a coffeepot, the thing was pulled away from him by the black sergeant.

"Not this one, Louis. I can't believe you still mix the two pots together after all this time !"

Tom couldn't see what was wrong with the coffeepot, but obviously it wasn't meant to make coffee. He raised an eyebrow at the scene, but no one volunteered any kind of explanation, as if it was just normal. A slight frown creased the teen's features ; he had a feeling that he was shown only the tip of the iceberg. There was probably much more going on there than met the eye - and, naturally, it aroused his curiosity. Not that he suspected the men to be lying (no one could fake that cockney accent), they were undoubtedly on the same side. But he was curious as to the extent of their operation. And of course, as to what would warrant that coffeepot a special protected status.

"So", Hogan said while sitting in front of them. Something in his tone hinted that they were about to speak of serious matters. "We've been warned by London that the two of you might come here, though they were unable to give us a specific date. We're pretty isolated here, so pray tell what's going on in the wide world ?"

Isolated - yeah, right. As if Tom was going to believe it... or it was the understatement of the century.

"Oh, the usual business", Dumbledore replied cheerfully, and Tom had to hold back another sneer. They had just gotten rid of Grindelwald, for Merlin's sake ! But, of course, the man just _had _to play casual about the whole thing. And he didn't even have the excuse of being a Gryffindor to explain his modest-hero-complex.

"Care to be a little more precise ?" Hogan pressed on.

"We were involved in a plot against Grind... Hitler", Tom said quietly, remembering at the last minute that he was dealing with muggles.

At least, he would get the pleasure to tell them and to see their astonished faces. And indeed, the colonel cast him a sharp glance, as if reassessing his first impression. Maybe he would take him a little more seriously now, Tom thought with a wicked pleasure. At any rate, that had drawn the attention of the other prisoners of war, and they were opening eyes as big as house-elves. Then, they started to ask questions all at the same time, and Hogan had to silence them. However, they regained their poise quicker than Tom would have thought. The Frenchman poured them some coffee, along with some food that probably wasn't very good, except Tom felt ravenous and really didn't care about the quality of the food as long as it was edible.

"Now, now, that's something pretty big", the senior prisoner said, getting back to their business. "How did it end ?"

The teen glanced at his fellow wizard, but Dumbledore was intently gazing at his nails and pretended he did not notice what was going on. That was just_ typical _of the man, but Tom could not truthfully say he didn't enjoy all the attention he was getting.

"One of his generals tried to kill him with a bomb", the younger wizard explained, "but Gri... Hitler escaped alive of the bunker, barely scratched. But, hum, we had planned to be there and check, just in case, so we managed to, er, terminate him."

A stunned silence followed this statement. All the prisoners were gaping in shock at Tom. It was beyond them to understand how an old man and a boy had managed to get rid of the most evil human being since... well, actually, the most evil human being, period. Unless one believed in Satan and such, of course. And even then...

"You're kidding, right ?" the black sergeant asked in disbelief. "I mean... he can't be really dead, can he ?"

"When I checked his pulse, I sensed nothing - and that was _after _I severed his head, but if you don't want to take my word..." Tom retorted ironically.

Kinchloe seemed slightly uneasy at the idea of the dark-haired teen facing him severing someone's head, even if this someone was Hitler. Someone so young should not be already so stained with the realities of war, he though to himself. Not to mention the cold, uncaring voice... maybe that was the teen's way to cope with the idea of having killed ? But he didn't voice that opinion.

"Well, can't say that's not good news !" Hogan said, though he looked as if he had trouble really believing it. Not that Tom could blame him.

"Nonetheless", Dumbledore stepped in, "we should not drop our guard. The death of one man is not the end of the war."

Trust the old goat to be a killjoy, Tom mused grimly. But the man seemed to have an uncanny ability to spill the beans. Or, in that case, the bad news. Bird of ill omen.

"What do you mean ?" Carter queried. He always looked like he was in a dream and not paying attention to the conversation. There was something innocent about him, which was somewhat irritating. It certainly got on Tom's nerves.

"There are many people just as eager to take Hitler's position as head of the Third Reich", Dumbledore explained with virtuous patience. "Goering... Himmler... Goebbels... of course, if someone like Admiral Doenitz could take over, I have no doubt the war would soon reach its end, but it is doubtful. Not with so many wolves out."

"If we are lucky, they will just fight amongst themselves", Hogan pointed out. "As Plaute would say, homo homini lupus... In any case, that will be a serious advantage for us. As long as they don't have an appointed leader, it will be a real chaos in their high-command structure."

Tom tried, unsuccessfully, to stiffle a yawn, and Dumbledore flashed him a gentle smile. The bloody hypocrite. Tom knew perfectly well that the old goat did not trust him, yet he behaved in a grandfather-like way. Had he any idea just how annoying and unsettling it was ?

On second thought, knowing the man, yes, he probably did - and that was probably the exact reason he was doing it. Tom would never admit it to anyone, but Dumbledore probably had some Slytherin blood - at least, he had some of the skills. Which did _not _make him any more likeable.

"We should get to sleep, now", Hogan said. "We have roll call in a few hours. I, for one, am ready to sleep like a log. I'm sure I'll have sweet dreams involving Hitler ass-kicking and such."

The other prisoners grinned and nodded, but suddenly the door crashed open, and a fat German sergeant looking positively as wide as he was tall bursted into the barracks.

"What is going on here ?!" he said in a scolding voice. "Lights are supposed to be out. Do you know that could cost me my next three-day pass ?"

He looked more like a grandfather scolding disobedient children than a guard adressing prisoners - and he hadn't even noticed the 'guests'. Tom couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. Of course, that was the first time he ever stepped into a prisoner of war camp, but he certainly didn't expect that kind of behaviour. Okay, he knew that back in Africa Rommel was always pretty fair and adament about the Geneva Convention, but that was _Germany _! And he had heard awful things about that kind of camps, mistreatments and such. Yet, there seemed to be nothing of the sort there. And he realized in dismay that he had failed to ask anything about the place, busy as he was to gloat about Grindelwald's defeat. Way to go, Riddle, he thought with disgust. He had let his pride get the better of him.

"Sorry, Schultz, but Carter had a nightmare and I just couldn't let him all on his own in the dark, could I ?" Hogan said with a charming smile.

That was about the silliest excuse Tom had ever heard, and he stared at the colonel, aghast. Did he really expect the German sergeant to believe that ?

"Oh, that's so sweet !"

Okay, so maybe Hogan was not so crazy after all. On the other hand, Tom started to wonder about the inexistence of a brain in that German helmeted head. The fat sergeant had even propped his rifle up against the doorframe. Frankly, what kind of guard was that ? The teen started to suspect he had right under his nose the very reason why Hogan and his friends managed to be so successful in their "Travelers' Aid Society" business.

"But you'll get me in trouble", Schultz added, as if moved by an afterthought. "And the lights must be... colonel Hogan ! What is _that _?"

Well, to his credit, he had eventually noticed the two newcomers. It had only taken him five minutes. Duh !

"What that ?" the colonel asked innocently. The nerve of the man !

"I don't know these two men ! They aren't prisoners here ! Colonel Hogan, you are going to get us in trouble !" the sergeant whined with desperation.

"What are you complaining about !" Hogan chided him. "You don't even have to make prisoners - we make prisoners for you."

"He's right, Schultz", Kinchloe stepped in. "I mean, if you had prisoners missing... but what is wrong with more prisoners ?"

"But they are not supposed to be here ! That I have to report !" Schultz insisted, though he looked like he would be all too glad to leave things the way they were if only Hogan gave him a good excuse to do that.

"All right, Schultz, don't worry", the colonel sighed. "They'll be gone by roll call, and no one will know about there presence. I promise I won't tell."

"You won't tell ?_ I _will tell !" the sergeant protested.

"Ah, too bad, Schultz. But, well, I guess that if that's what you want... Ah, that's just beautiful. Beautiful !"

"Thank you, colonel", the German goon replied with satisfaction, before heading towards the door. However, he stopped suddenly dead on his tracks and spinned round, as if moved by an afterthought. "Colonel Hogan ? What is beautiful ?"

Ah, Tom could see it now. The colonel was baiting Schultz skillfully, artfully. Not that it seemed that difficult to pull out with such a guinea pig.

"What is beautiful ? Aaah, Schultz, do you need to ask ? The way you are willing to throw away - just everything ! Your career, your rank - perhaps even your life - to do your duty."

"What do you mean ?" The German looked quite uneasy, now.

"Well, Schultz, who's responsible for the lights and for the number of prisoners in our barracks ? And who's going to be punished, therefore ? Not to mention the time you allowed other prisoners to stay in our barracks - I don't want to tell, of course, but if there is an investigation... you know the Gestapo, they're such nice fellows... Ah, too bad, when I think corporal Lebeau was going to cook a nice strudel tomorrow... We'll miss you, Schultz."

The sergeant was sweating more and more each minute, glancing with anxiety at Tom and Dumbledore, as if wondering how they could cause such mayhem in his life by merely being there.

"Maybe I need to reconsider... Colonel, you're sure you won't tell anyone ?"

"Schultz, you know me", Hogan replied in mock indignation. "I wouldn't tell a secret !"

"Yes, I know you all too well", the sergeant snapped. "I see _nothing_, and I hear ab-so-lu-te-ly _nothing _! I don't want to know about your monkey business."

With a glare, he left the barracks. But even after he had left, the prisoners kept an eye on the door with a half smile, unmoving. Seconds later, the door reopened, and the German sergeant slid an arm into the barracks to get his rifle back.

"And turn off the lights !" he bellowed before leaving, for good this time.

"He... doesn't look too bad. Certainly not as much as prefect McGonagall anyway", Tom murmured, earning a twinkling in Dumbledore's eyes as a result.

"Good, good, everyone to bed now", Hogan ordered. "We'll have a rough day to get you out of Germany, half the army and Gestapo will be looking for you."

For security reasons, Tom and Dumbledore had to sleep in the tunnel ; but it was obviously not the first time Hogan had that kind of "guests", and the mattresses were actually fairly comfortable, more than Tom would have expected. But he was so tired that he could have slept on the ground without even feeling it. He was dead on his feet, and he slept soundly well past sunrise, as they could not hear the noise of roll call down in the tunnel.

When Tom did wake up, the first thing he saw was Dumbledore and Hogan, quietly talking. He stirred like a cat, and rose to his feet, before going to meet the two men. The three of them were alone in the tunnel - or rather the tunnels, as there seemed to be several junctions, and Tom guessed the other prisoners must probably be up - it would be a little too conspicuous if they just all disappeared in the barracks all day, especially in the middle of july.

"We were working out the details", Hogan explained to the teen. "It won't be easy getting you out of this place. But for now, you should get something to eat upstairs - I'm sure Louis will have something ready."

Tom didn't like much being moved aside so casually, but he did feel ravenously hungry, so he didn't protest as much as he would have under other circumstances. As he left, he didn't notice Hogan's thoughtful glance on his back.

"That's one quite unique young man", the colonel said softly.

"Yes, I'm afraid he is", Dumbledore sigh. "But sometimes, this boy frightens me."

Hogan squinted at the older man with a weird look. Being afraid was not the kind of things most men would willingly admit - but Dumbledore was no ordinary man, and he already knew that.

"I would hardly call a boy someone who chopped off Hitler's head."

"That's part of my concern", Dumbledore replied darkly. "Though I understand his motives... but there is something most people don't see under the tip of the iceberg."

"You have a reason for telling me this", the colonel stated, and Dumbledore cast him a sharp glance.

"Yes, I do", he acknowledged, and this time the twinkling was gone in his eyes. "I want you to be careful around him."

When Tom came back, he noticed the somewhat strange look Hogan sent him, as well as a certain tension between the colonel and Dumbledore, and he knew at once that something had been said that he wasn't supposed to know about. He didn't ask, though, but kept the information in a part of his head - well hidden under his strongest occlumens shield. He didn't put it past Dumbledore to have a discreet look at his thoughts. And he doubted the elder wizard would be willing to pay a penny for them.

"So, just how are we going to leave ?" he queried with a fake easy-going smile.

"The usual path is out of the question", Hogan said, at once all business-like. "That would endanger the whole underground network, not to mention it's not discreet enough. I mean, had it been anything else... but killing Hitler..."

"They didn't see our face", Tom protested. "They can't know..."

"I'm afraid they can", Dumbledore cut him. "We didn't have time to Obliviate the few survivors of the bunker's collapsing."

"Professor..." Tom started, glancing at Hogan.

"That's all right", the colonel smiled. "I'm well aware of, er, your special abilities. And of Hit... Grindelwald's story."

"You told him ?" Tom asked Dumbledore in disbelief. That was a break of over a hundred regulations, he was certain of that.

"He already knew. We have been working with the Muggles for over four years, Tom, my dear boy", his former teacher replied smoothly. "They had to know what they were up against."

The teen shook his head in disbelief.

"I suspected as much", he admitted. "But telling so much people... why not broadcast it on the radio ?!"

"Now, that's a bit of an overstatement", Hogan protested. "Not so much people know. And no one below the rank of colonel."

"Hmph", Tom snorted, though he stopped there his eloquence.

"Now, getting back to our business", Hogan resumed, "in other circumstances I would have asked you to sit it out and to wait for the search parties to be over, but they aren't likely to be any time soon - they'd rather get worse. So we managed to contact Nemrod and to have him take care of you."

"Nemrod ?" Tom repeated guardedly.

"Codename. That's a German operative who's been gathering intel for us for a long time. I have no idea of his real identity, though I suspect he's from around there. We are on a need-to-know basis, so London insisted we'd be kept in the dark about him. But don't worry, he's one of the best."

At this moment, and before Tom had time to ask further questions, there was a commotion near the ladder and Carter tumbled down.

"Sir, a German car - Major Hochstetter just arrived in camp."

"Ow, this one's bad", Hogan muttered with a grimace.

"Who's this Major Hochstetter ?" Dumbledore queried, as phlegmatic as ever.

"He's this blood-thirsty Gestapo agent", Hogan sighed. "He's been trying to pinpoint us for months. Fortunately, he never managed to gather evidence against us, but he's out for the hunt, and he'll probably stick at nothing to put an end to our operation."

"Looks like a nice fellow", Tom muttered.

His weak attempt at humor didn't elicit any laughter, and Hogan climbed swiftly up, followed by the two wizards. Tom quickly realised that the faucet, apart from being - well, a faucet - also was of use as a periscope. Thus, he was able to have a look outside without actually leaving the barracks, and without the risk of anyone noticing him - which would be quite deadly with this Gestapo fellow around.

Hochstetter was a short, brown-haired man, slightly bulkier than average, and with that predator eyes most Gestapo agents seemed to cultivate. The angry red of his swastika armand flashed for everyone to see, as the man strode to the biggest building of the camp - obviously used as an office for the germans in charge of Stalag 13.

"Kinch, plug in the coffeepot", Hogan ordered.

Now, that was getting interesting ; at last, Tom would know the use of the damn implement. He and Dumbledore followed Hogan in his office, and they all sat around the coffeepot. Soon enough they heard voice coming out of the thing. Tom shot a weird glance at Hogan, wondering if he wasn't a wizard finally.

"We bugged Klink's - the kommandant's office", the colonel explained, noticing the glance. "Now, listen."

There was some silence, then the sound of a door being opened and closed.

"My dear major", came a fawning voice, "please have a seat. It's always a pleasure..."

"Klink's still the same", Lebeau grinned. "Even with a major."

"Spare me the pleasantries, Klink !" cut a grating voice. "My time is precious. I'm here to warn you of new measures. We are looking for two very important people, and the highest authority has given the Gestapo free hand to apprehend them. If you can't make them prisoners, they are to be shot."

"What did they do ?" Klink's voice had decreased to an excited whisper, as if he felt flattered to be told all this.

"That is top-secret", the major retorted dryly. "If you manage to capture them - which I doubt - you are to report to me at once. Is that understood ?"

"Of course, of course, major ! You know I'm always ready to work with the Gestapo, that's indeed a great pleasure..."

"Yes, yes", Hochstetter said tiredly and with a hint of disgust. "I need to go now, here are the descriptions of these two people."

Kinchloe unplugged the coffeepot, or rather the Muggle listening device, and shared a glance with Hogan.

"Hochstetter too is still the same", Lebeau grimaced with annoyance. "Do you think he's going to be a problem, colonel ?"

"We don't want to put your operation in danger, colonel Hogan", the older wizard added.

"Well, we're supposed to meet Nemrod tonight", Hogan sighed. "In any case, we can't postpone that meeting, we have no means to contact that Nemrod guy, and it would be too complicated to arrange for another meeting. No, we'll have to carry out the mission."

The remaining of the day was rather dull, barring the preparation of the night's expedition. Both Tom and Dumbledore were given dark clothes, papers, some food, in short everything and anything they might need, except of course a Muggle weapon ; they wouldn't know how to use it and were more likely to end up injuring themselves. Besides, they had their wands.

They left the camp around midnight, long after roll call. Tom idly wondered what they would do if one day the kommandant ordered a night bedcheck or impromptu roll call. Ah, well, not his problem.

They walked in the forest, moving a shadows with barely a few muffled sounds. For discretion's sake, Tom had discreetly cast a Silencing charm, but he knew they could have went without it. Hogan and his men moved with the ease of a long practice, and it was obvious they knew perfectly their surroundings. They arrived to the rendezvous point without any bad surprise.

"All right, Newkirk, give the signal", Hogan whispered.

The Englishman drew a torch, and switched it on and off alternatively following a definite pattern. They waited for sometime, but no answer came, and as time went by Tom started to feel slightly ill-at-ease. He didn't like being like that in the open, just waiting.

"Try that again, Newkirk."

This time, the answer came, in the shape of several flashes long and short. The light came from about twenty meters away.

"That's good, sir", the Englishman murmured.

"Okay, let's go then", the colonel instructed.

They left the screening of the bushes and soon enough they met the famous Nemrod. Well, at least they met a man clad in black with a mask on his face who called himself Nemrod. But he did know the code, so he probably was who he said he was. Tom decided not to let his vivid imagination take over and definitely not to think about all the ways this guy could have laid his hands on the afore mentioned code. Besides, he was with Dumbledore - as irritating as the old goat was, it was good to have him by his side in a fight.

All right, all right. It was good to have the old man fight and stall their foes while Tom took the opportunity to flee.

"Here you go - it was nice meeting you", Hogan said in a low voice. "Have a pleasant trip back."

"You too, my dear colonel", Dumbledore answered politely.

"We don't have time for that", Nemrod cut in. "We need to go now."

They left Hogan and his men behind, and followed the undeground agent through the forest. Nemrod kept silent, except for short commands and instructions, and kept talking in a subdued voice, barely audible. After about half an hour of a walk in that pitch-black forest, they reached a road, where a car was waiting.

A car with swastika flags on it.

"Hands up !" Tom hissed, as he drew his wand.

Dumbledore didn't take his, but he didn't prevent the teen from acting either. He too had seen the flags.

"What is this about ?" Nemrod barked back.

"Are you kidding ? There are Gestapo flags on this car !"

"Oh, because you expected me to get you out of Germany with an Allies-flagged car ?" the man scoffed.

"Remove your mask, then", Tom instructed.

The underground agent hesitated, but it was obvious that the teen had no intention to back off, and what he helf in his hand did seem to have the shape of a gun in the darkness. He complied, and Tom gaped in amazement.

"Major Hochstetter ?! _You _are Nemrod ?"

"You just ruined a cover that took years to build", the major said grimly.

"Please, my dear fellow, I'm sure you will admit that we do have reasons to be cautious just who we travel with", Dumbledore stepped in soothingly. "Besides, your secret is safe with us... though I must admit I'm surprised. I've been told, hum... how determined you are in the chase of underground activities."

"Yes, I'm quite good at it", the major couldn't help but grin. "I always come so _close _to discover Hogan's whole operation... the man never wondered how I could not find the obvious."

Tom smiled too. he liked Hochstetter's devious mind.

"So, now, if you're reassured, maybe we could go ?" the major asked with a hint of petulance. "I don't have all night - remember I'm supposed to be looking for you two."

Dumbledore cast the teen a pointed glance, and with a sigh Tom lowered his wand and slid it back in his sleeve.

"All right, all right", he gave in. "Lead the way."

Behind the major, he and Dumbledore went in the car for the long travel that would get them back home.

The End... kinda

* * *

**Ending Note** : My first long fanfic finished ! Now that's something !

Ok, so, basically, this story was supposed to be only a kind of introduction to the "real" story. Only, I got carried out, I guess, and it became much longer than expected.

I'd like to thanks too all the people who've reviewed so far, and those who will... might... review later. Not so much people do review, and thus I feel that those few who took the time to tell me they liked (or not) this story deserve these thanks. And for all the readers who didn't review but read the story, well, I hope you liked it in spite of my weird ideas and twisted plot.


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